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THE LIFE 

OF 

WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. 

» 

COMPILED 

FROM HIS CORRESPONDENCE 

AND OTHER 

AUTHENTIC SOURCES OF INFORMATION: 

CONTAINING 

a&emar&s on &fe Waiting, 

AND ON THE 

PECULIARITIES OF HIS INTERESTING CHARACTER, 

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED. 



By THOMAS TAYLOR. 



Untainted with the blandishments of vice, 
Which mark the manners of the present age, 
He sought and found the pearl of precious price 
Which stands recorded in the sacred page. 
Yet, spite of all that wisdom could impart, 
And all the fervour of religious flame, 
Grief poured a tide of anguish through his heart, 
And shook the fabric of his mental frame." 



LONDON: 
SMITH, ELDER AND CO., CORNHILL 

1833. 



Tt^ 3 



^ 



\* 



<$■*> 



LONDON : 

PIIINTED BY STEWART AND CO. 

OLD BAILEY. 



TO 

R. D. ALEXANDER, Esq. F.L.S. 

THE STEADY, DETERMINED, AND PERSEVERING 
FRIEND OF HUMANITY, 

€i)te %iit 

OF THE AMIABLE, PIOUS, AND HIGHLY-GIFTED, 
BUT DEEPLY-AFFLICTED POET, 

COWPER, 

WHICH OWES ITS EXISTENCE ENTIRELY TO HIS SUGGESTION, 

to most rigpectfullg tombefc, 

AS A SLIGHT, BUT SINCERE AND GRATEFUL, 
TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM, 

FOR THE NUMEROUS UNMERITED FAVOURS RECEIVED 
FROM HIM, 

BY HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE 



Many lives of Cowper have already been pub- 
lished. Why, then, it may be asked, add to their 
number ? Simply because, in the opinion of com- 
petent judges, no memoir of him has yet appeared 
that gives a full, fair, and unbiassed view of his 
character. 

It is remarked by Dr. Johnson, the poet's kins- 
man, in his preface to the two volumes of Cow- 
per's Private Correspondence, "that Mr. Hayley 
omitted the insertion of several interesting letters 
in his excellent Life of the poet, out of kindness to 
his readers." In doing this, however, amiable and 
considerate as his caution must appear, the gloomi- 
ness which he has taken from the mind of Cow- 
per, has the effect of involving his character in 



VI PREFACE. 

obscurity. People read ' The Letters' with ' The 
Task' in their recollection, (and vice versa,) and 
are perplexed. They look for the Cowper of each 
in the other, and find him not. Hence the cha- 
racter of Cowper is undetermined ; mystery hangs 
over it; and the opinions formed of him are as 
various as the minds of the enquirers. 

In alluding to these suppressed letters, the late 
highly-esteemed Rev. Legh Richmond once em- 
phatically remarked — " Cowper's character will 
never be clearly and satisfactorily understood 
without them, and they should be permitted to 
exist for the demonstration of the case. I know 
the importance of it from numerous conversations 
I have had both in Scotland and in England, on 
this most interesting subject. Persons of truly 
religious principles, as well as those of little or no 
religion at all, have greatly erred in their estimate 
of this great and good man." 

Dr. Johnson's two volumes of Private Corre- 
spondence satisfactorily supplied this deficiency to 
all those who have the means of consulting them, 
and the four volumes by Mr. Hayley. The author 
of this memoir has attempted not only to bring 
the substance of these six volumes into one, but 
to communicate information respecting the poet 
which cannot be found in either of those works. 
He is fully aware of the peculiarities of Cowper's 
case, and has endeavoured to exhibit them as pro- 
minently as was compatible with his design, with- 



PREFACE. Vll 

out giving to the memoir too much of that melan- 
choly tinge by which the life of its subject was so 
painfully distinguished. 

In every instance where he could well accom- 
plish it, he has made Cowper his own biographer, 
convinced that it is utterly impossible to narrate 
any circumstance in a manner more striking, or in 
a style more chaste and elegant, than Cowper has 
employed in his inimitable letters. 

To impart ease and perspicuity to the memoir, 
and to compress it into as small a compass as was 
consistent with a full development and faithful re- 
cord of the most interesting particulars of Cow- 
per's life, the author has, in a few cases, inserted 
in one paragraph, remarks extracted from different 
letters, addressed more frequently, though not in- 
variably, to the same individual. He has, how- 
ever, taken care to avoid doing this where it could 
lead to any obscurity. 

He has made a free use of all the published 
records of Cowper within his reach, besides avail- 
ing himself of the valuable advice of the Rev. Dr. 
Johnson, Cowper's kinsman, to whom he hereby 
respectfully tenders his grateful acknowledgments 
for his condescension and kindness, in undertaking 
to examine the manuscript, and for the useful 
and judicious hints respecting it he was pleased 
to suggest. 

Without concealing a single fact of real impor- 
tance, the author has carefully avoided giving that 



Vlll PREFACE. 

degree of prominence to any painful circumstance 
in the poet's life, which would be likely to excite 
regret in the minds of any of his surviving rela- 
tives, and which, for reasons the most amiable and 
perfectly excusable, they might have wished had 
been suppressed ; and he hopes it will be found 
that he has admitted nothing that can justly offend 
the most fastidious. 

It is particularly the wish of the author to state, 
that he makes no pretensions to originality in this 
memoir. He wishes it to be regarded only as a 
compilation ; and all the merit he claims for it, if, 
indeed, it has any, is for the arrangement of those 
materials which were already furnished for his use. 

He has attempted to make the work interesting 
to all classes, especially to the lovers of literature 
and genuine piety, and to place within the reach 
of general readers, many of whom have neither the 
means nor the leisure to consult larger works, all 
that is really interesting respecting that singularly 
afflicted individual, whose productions, both poetic 
and prose, can never be read but with delight. 

October 27, 1832. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS, 



CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX. 



Age. CHAPTER I. Page 

Cowper's birth, Nov. 15, 1731, O. S -, . 1 

His ancestry 1 

Mother's character and epitaph 2 

Poetic tribute to her memory 3 

6 First School ; cruel treatment there 4 

Early serious impressions 5 

8 Placed under the care of a female oculist 5 

9 Enters Westminster school ... 6 

Anecdote of him while there 6 

18 Acquirements when he left it . 7 

Enters an attorney's office . 8 

Unsuitableness of the profession for him 8 

CHAPTER II. 

2 1 Takes a set of chambers in the Temple 11 

Want of employment, and state of his mind . . . . . 12 

23 Commencement of his dejection 13 

24 Visit to Southampton, and its effects 14 

25 Return to London ; inconsistency of his conduct .... 15 

26 Death of his father — how it affected him 16 

31 Obtains an appointment in the House of Lords .... 16 

Severe attack of depression 17 



CONTENTS. 

ge. Page 

32 Gloomy state of his mind 19 

Repairs to Margate ; conduct there 21 

Depth of his melancholy on his return ,22 

Its lamentable effects 24 

1 Powerful awakenings respecting religion 26 

Is visited by Rev. Mr. Madan 27 

Results of this visit 28 

Sudden and violent nervous attack 29 

CHAPTER III. 

Removal to St. Alban's ; painful feelings there .... 32 

His brother's visit to him, and its happy results . ... 33 

33 Discovery of Divine mercy to his mind 34 

The great benefits that followed it 35 

Interesting conversation with Dr. Cotton 36 

Cowper's close application to the Scriptures 37 

Poetic specimen of his first Christian thoughts 37 

Great progress he makes in religion 38 

His excellent remarks on the benefits of affliction .... 39 

Great difference between the Christian and the unbeliever . 40 
His affectionate regard for Dr. Cotton, and gratitude to God 

for placing him under his care 41 

34 Leaves St. Alban's ; sensations on the occasion .... 42 

CHAPTER IV. 

Entrance on his residence at Huntingdon 44 

Depth of his piety 45 

How he employed his time 46 

Enjoyment he experienced in religion 47 

Pleasure he felt in corresponding on religious subjects . . 48 

His great attention to the operations of Providence . . . 51 

His attachment to Huntingdon ... 53 

Commencement of his acquaintance with the Unwins . . 54 
CHAPTER V. 

Becomes an inmate with the family 58 

The happy state of his mind, and the manner in which he 

had spent his time 59 

35 Of Christians knowing each other in Heaven 60 

Continued fervour of his piety 65 

Watchfulness and care over his heart 67 



CONTENTS. XI 

Age. Page 

36 Sudden death of Mr. Unwin , .... 68 

37 Commencement of Cowper's intimacy with Mr. Newton . 69 

CHAPTER VI. 

His removal with Mrs. Unwin to Olney 71 

Serene and peaceful state of his mind 72 , 

Sympathy for the poor, and anxiety to afford them relief . 73 ' 
Poetic tribute to the memory of Mr. Thornton 73 

38 Lively interest he took in the spiritual welfare of his cor- 

respondents, and serious remarks on eternity .... 75 

Excellent consolatory remarks 77 

Receives tidings of his brother's affliction 78 

Cowper's visit to him at Cambridge, and deep concern for 

his salvation 79 

His brother's conversion and death 81 

Impressions it made on Cowper's mind 83 

39 Cowper's description of his character, and tribute to his me- 

mory 84 

41 Begins, with Mr. Newton, to write the Olney Hymns . . 86 

CHAPTER VII. 

42 Second attack of depression 89 

Impossible that religion could be the cause ..•.-. 91 

Some remarks of Hayley animadverted upon 93 

Cowper kindly taken under Mr. Newton's care .... 94 

47 Undertakes to domesticate some leverets 95 

Mr. Newton's removal from Olney 96 

Mr. Bull's introduction to Cowper 96 

Cowper's playful description of his character . . ■'. . . 97 
Begins the translation of Madame Guy on's Songs .... 97 

48 Commences writing his original works 99 

Describes the state of his mind 101 

Remarks on the rapid flight of time 105 

49 His opinion respecting the duties of the Sabbath .... 107 

CHAPTER VIII. 
Makes preparation for publishing his first volume . . . .109 

Assigns reasons for becoming an author 110 

50 Sends the work to the press 112 

Great pains he took with his compositions 115 

Mr. Newton's preface to the volume 117 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Age. Page 

Its publication, and how it was received 119 

v State of his mind while composing it 120 

His ardent and sincere piety 121 

4 Describes the objects he had in view in composing it ..13 
CHAPTER IX. 
Commencement of his acquaintance with Lady Austen . .125 

Poetical epistle to that lady 126 

Lady Austen's removal to Olney ... 129 

51 Origin of "John Gilpin" 130 

Benefits Cowper derived from Lady Austen's company . .131 
-N52 Origin of " The Task " 132 

53 Its completion, and the commencement of his " Homer " . 134 

Withdrawal from Lady Austin 135 

Continuance of depression 136 

Gloomy and desponding state of his mind 138 

His remarks on the peculiarity of his own case 139 

Declines contributing to the " Theological Magazine" . .140 

Danger of trifling with our Maker 143 

His deep aversion to a formal profession of religion . . .144 
False professors of religion more dangerous to its interests 

than avowed infidels 147 

CHAPTER X. 

54 Publication of his second volume 149 

Humiliating views entertained of himself 151 

Commencement of his correspondence with Lady Hesketh . 152 

Interesting remarks to that lady 154 

Her intended visit to the poet, and his feelings on the 

occasion 156 

Her arrival at Olney, and its happy effects on Cowper's mind 160 

His removal to Weston 162 

Becomes intimate with the Throckmorton family . . . .163 
Remarks on the effects of frequent removals . . . . .165 

CHAPTER XI. 

Description of his religious experience 168 

Ill-grounded apprehensions of his friends 170 

Reasons for translating "Homer" 173 

Immense pains he took with it 176 



CONTENTS. Xll 

Age. Page 

Diligently employed in its revisal . . . . . . . . . 179 

Vexation he experienced from critics 181 

CHAPTER XII. 

55 Interesting description of his house at Weston 188 

Death of Mrs. Un win's son . . . , 190 

Cowper's distressing feelings on the occasion 191 

Labours again under severe indisposition 193 

Commencement of his acquaintance with Mr. Rose . . .194 

Continuance of his depression 195 

Mr. Rose's second visit to him .196 

Recovery of his health 1 97 

Renewal of his correspondence with Mr. Newton . . . .198 
Justifies himself for undertaking his translation .... 200 

56 Vigour with which he prosecuted it 202 

Continued desires after religion . . 204 

The gloomy state of his mind unremoved 207 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Reasons for declining to write on the " Slave Trade" . . 208 
Commencement of his correspondence with Mrs. King . . 209 

Interesting extracts from letters to Mrs. King 210 

Comparison between us and our ancestors 213 

Reflections on the death of Ashly Co wper, Esq 214 

Again declines writing on slavery 216 

Close attention to his Homer . . 217 

Remarks on the season 218 

Mr. and Mrs. Newton's visit to Weston . . . . . . .219 

His mind not always alike gloomy 220 

Amusing imaginary sketch of Mrs. King 321 

Mr. Rose's arrival at Weston 222 

Lady Hesketh's second visit to the poet 223 

57 Indefatigable attention to his translation 224 

Excuses for his inattention to his correspondents .... 225 

Composes several short poems 226 

Anecdote of the Northampton parish clerk 227 

Aversion to cruelty 227 

Lines on the death of a cock-fighter 228 

Concern for Mrs. Unwin, who was much injured by a fall . 232 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Age. CHAPTER XIV. Page 

Increased attention to his translation 235 

58 Revises, to oblige an entire stranger, a volume of hymns for 

children 238 

Serious reflections on the effects of winter 239 

Gloomy and painful apprehensions 241 

Receipt of his mother's portait . . . . . . • . • • 242 

Interesting description of his feelings on the occasion . . 243 

Judicious advice to his cousin 245 

Translates Van Leer's Latin Letters . 246 

Continuance of his melancholy depression 247 

Advantages of a rural situation for the cultivation of religion 248 

59 Short but very severe nervous attack 249 

Sends his Homer to the press 249 

Immense labour he had bestowed upon it ... . . 250 
Sympathetic remarks to Mr. Newton on the death of his wife 25 1 
Solicits Mr. Newton for a more regular correspondence . 252 
Unabated attachment to religion 254 

CHAPTER XV. 

Publication of his Homer 255 

Remarks respecting it 256 

Benefit it had been to him 257 

Prepares materials for his edition of Milton 259 

Vindication of Milton, and remarks on Paradise Lost . . 260 
Unsuccessful attempt to obtain from him original poetry . 261 
Commencement of his intimacy with Mr. Hayley . . . 263 

60 Mrs. Unwin's first attack of paralysis 264 

Continuance of his gloomy apprehensions 265 

Mr. Hayley's first visit to Weston 267 

Anecdotes respecting Mr. Hayley's first letter to Cowper . 268 
Pleasure Cowper derived from Mr. Hayley's visit . . . 269 

Mrs. Un win's second paralytic attack 271 

Deep concern of Cowper on the occasion 272 

Depressed state of his mind 274 

Engages to pay Mr. Hayley a visit 275 

Anxiety respecting the journey 276 

Remarks on Mrs. Unwin's piety 279 

Playful feelings on sitting for his portrait 280 



CONTENTS. XV 

Jge. CHAPTER XVI. Page 

Journey to Eartham 281 

Manner in which he and Mr. Hayley employed themselves 283 

State of his mind while there 284 

Return to Weston, and interview with General Cowper . 285 

Effects of the journey on his mind 286 

Ineffectual effort at composition 289 

Warmth of his affection for Mr. Hayley 290 

61 Preparation for the second edition of Homer . . . . . 292 

Continuance of his depression 295 

Use of affliction 296 

Declines a joint literary undertaking . 298 

Willing to write with others a poem entitled The Four 

Ages 301 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Mr. Hayley's second visit to W^eston . 303 

Lord Spencer's kind attention to the poet 303 

62 Cowper's undiminished regard for Mrs. Unwin, and poetic 

tribute to her worth 305 

Excellent critical remarks 207 

Most severe attack of depression 309 

Lady Hesketh's kind attention 310 

Mr. Greatheed's visit and letter to Mr. Hayley 311 

Mr. Hayley and his son's visit to Weston . . . . . .312 

63 His Majesty's grant of a pension to the poet 314 

Removal into Norfolk in the care of his kinsman . . .316 

64 Takes possession of Dunham Lodge 313 

Interest he took in Mr. Wakefield's Homer 319 

65 Death of Mrs. Unwin 320 

Tablet to her memory 321 

Dr. Johnson's great attention to the poet 322 

Happy results of the Doctor's ingenuity 323 

66 Dowager Lady Spencer's visit to the poet 324 

67 Stanzas, entitled " The Cast-away" 325 

Dr. Johnson's various efforts to afford him relief . . . 326 

68 The poet's last letter to Mr. Hayley 327 

Is visited by Mr. Rose 328 

Disconsolate state of his mind 329 



XVI CONTENTS. 

Age. Page 

His last words, and death, 25th April, 1800 330 

Monumental tablet, and lines to his memory 331 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Description of his person 333 

His manners — his eminent piety 334 

Attachment to the Established Church 335 

Aversion to bigotry — scholastic attainments 336 

"~~1 His productions, compared with his predecessors .... 337 
Comparison between him, and Milton and Young . . . 339 

His deep experimental piety 340 

Was the first who really made poetry the handmaid to religion 341 

His religious sentiments 342 

His views of friendship, and lines upon it 343 

Greatness and independence of his mind 346 

His skill in consoling the afflicted 347 

Occasional tranquillity and cheerfulness 349 

Jeu d'esprit 351 

Powers of description 353 

Remarks on his original productions 354 

Excellence of his epistolary style 356 

Aversion to flattery and ostentation 358 

Severity of his sarcasms 359 

Abhorrence of cruelty 359 

His patriotism 360 

His uncomplaining disposition 362 

Tenderness of his conscience 364 

Remarks of an anonymous critic on his productions . . . 365 
Lines to his memory .... 368 



THE LIFE 



OF 



WILLIAM COWPER. 



CHAPTER I. 



His parentage — Loss of his mother — Poetic description of her cha- 
racter — First school — Cruelty he experienced there — First serious 
impressions — Is placed under the care of an eminent oculist — 
Entrance upon Westminster School — Character while there — 
Removal thence — Entrance upon an attorney's office — Want of 
employment there — Unfitness for his profession — Early melan- 
choly impressions. 

William Cowper was born at Great Berkhamstead, in 
Hertfordshire, November 15, 1731. His father, Dr. John 
Cowper, chaplain to King George the Second, was the se- 
cond son of Spencer Cowper, who was Chief Justice of 
Cheshire, and afterwards a Judge in the Court of Common 
Pleas, and whose brother William, first Earl Cowper, was, 
at the same time, Lord High Chancellor of England. His 
mother was Anne, daughter of Roger Donne, Esq. of Lud- 
ham Hall, Norfolk, who had a common ancestry with the 
celebrated Dr. Donne, Dean of St. Paul's. 

In reference to this lady, it has been justly ob- 
served, by one of the poet's best biographers, " That 
the highest blood in the realm flowed in the veins of the 

B 



2 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

modest and unassuming Cowper; his mother having de- 
scended through the families of Hippesley of Through- 
ley, in Sussex, and Pellet, of Bolney, in the same county, 
from the several noble houses of West, Knollys, Carey, 
Bullen, Howard, and Mowbray, and so, by four different 
lines, from Henry the Third, king of England." Though, 
as the same writer properly remarks, " distinctions of this 
nature can shed no additional lustre on the memory of 
Cowper, yet genius, however exalted, disdains not, while 
it boasts not, the splendour of ancestry ; and royalty itself 
may be pleased, and perhaps benefited, by discovering its 
kindred to such piety, such purity, and such talents as his." 
Very little is known of the habits and disposition of 
Cowper's mother. From the following epitaph, however, 
inscribed on a monument, erected by her husband in the 
chancel of St. Peter's church, Great Berkhamstead, and 
composed by her niece, who afterwards became Lady 
Walsingham, she appears to have been a lady of the most 
amiable temper and agreeable manners : — 

Here lies, in early years bereft of life, 
The best of mothers, and the kindest wife, 
Who neither knew nor practised any art, 
Secure in all she wished — her husband's heart. 
Her love to him still prevalent in death, 
Pray'd Heaven to bless him with her latest breath. 
Still was she studious never to offend, 
And glad of an occasion to commend ; 
With ease would pardon injuries received, 
Nor e'er was cheerful when another grieved. 
Despising state, with her own lot content, 
Enjoyed the comforts of a life well spent; 
Resigned when Heaven demanded back her breath, 
Her mind heroic 'midst the pangs of death. 
Whoe'er thou art that dost this tomb draw near, 
O, stay awhile, and shed a friendly tear; 
These lines, though weak, are as herself sincere. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 3 

After giving birth to several children, this lady died in 
child-bed, in her thirty-seventh year; leaving only two 
sons, John the younger, and William the elder, who is the 
subject of this memoir. Cowper was only six years old 
when he lost his mother ; and how deeply he was affected 
by her early death, may be inferred from the following ex- 
quisitely tender lines, composed more than fifty years af- 
terwards, on the receipt of her portrait from a relation in 
Norfolk : — 

" My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss : 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss ! 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 
I saw the hearse that bore thee far away, 
And, turning from my nursery- window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 
But was it such? It was — Where thou art gone 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 
The parting sound shall pass my lips no more ! 
Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern, 
Oft gave me promise of a quick return. 
What ardently I wished, I long believed, 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 
By disappointment every day beguiled, 
Dupe of to-morrow, even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
I learned at last submission to my lot, 
But though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours 
When playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 
The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
I pricked them into paper with a pin, 

b2 



4 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 

(And thou wast happier than myself the while, 

Would softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,) 

Could these few pleasant hours again appear, 

Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? 

I would not trust my heart/the dear delight 

Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might ; 

But no — what here we call our life is such, 

So little to be loved, and thou so much, 

That I should ill requite thee to constrain 

Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 

(The storm all weathered and the ocean crossed) 

Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, 

Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, 

There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 

Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 

While airs impregnated with incense play 

Around her, fanning light her streamers gay : 

So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore 

Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar. 

And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 

Of life, long since, has anchored at thy side. 

But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 

Always from port withheld, always distressed — 

Me, howling winds drive devious, tempest tost, 

Sails ript, seams opening wide, and compass lost, 

And day by day some current's thwarting force 

Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 

But, oh ! the thought that thou art safe, and he ! 

That thought is joy, arrive what may to me : 

My boast is not that I deduce my birth 

From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth, 

But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 

The son of parents passed into the skies ! 

Deprived thus early of his excellent and most affection- 
ate parent, he was sent, at this tender age, to a large school 
at Market-street, Hertfordshire, under the care of Dr. Pit- 
man. Here he had hardships of different kinds to conflict 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 5 

with, which he felt more sensibly, in consequence of the 
tender manner in which he had been treated at home. His 
chief sorrow, however, arose from the cruel treatment he 
met with from a boy in the same school, about fifteen 
years of age, who on all occasions persecuted him with the 
most unrelenting barbarity ; and who never seemed pleased 
except when he was tormenting him. This savage treat- 
ment impressed such a dread upon Cowper's tender mind 
of this boy, that he was afraid to lift up his eyes upon him 
higher than his knees ; and he knew him better by his 
shoe-buckles than by any other part of his dress. 

It was at this school, and on one of these painful occa- 
sions, that the mind of Cowper, which was afterwards to 
become imbued with religious feelings of the highest order, 
received its first serious impressions — a circumstance 
which cannot fail to be interesting to every Christian 
reader, and the more so as detailed in his own words. 

" One day, as I was sitting alone on a bench in the 
school, melancholy, and almost ready to weep at the recol- 
lection of what I had already suffered, and expecting at 
the same time my tormentor every moment, these words of 
the Psalmist came into my mind — ' I will not be afraid of 
what man can do unto me.' I applied this to my own 
case, with a degree of trust and confidence in God, that 
would have been no disgrace to a much more experienced 
Christian. Instantly I perceived in myself a briskness 
and a cheerfulness of spirit which I had never before expe- 
rienced, and took several paces up and down the room 
with joyful alacrity. Happy had it been for me, if this 
early effort towards a dependance on the blessed God, had 
been frequently repeated. But, alas! it was the first and 
the last, between infancy and manhood." 

From this school he was removed in his eighth year ; 
and having at that time specks on both his eyes, which 



6 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

threatened to cover them, his father, alarmed for the conse- 
quences, placed him under the care of an eminent female 
oculist in London ; in whose house he abode nearly two 
years. In this lady's family, religion was neither known nor 
practised ; the slightest appearance of it, in any shape, was 
carefully concealed, even its outward forms were entirely un- 
observed. In a situation like this, it was not to be expected 
that young Cowper would long retain those serious im- 
pressions he had experienced ; nor is it surprising, that 
before his removal thence he should have lost them entirely. 

In his ninth year, he was sent to Westminster School, 
then under the care of Dr. Nicholls; who, though an inge- 
nious and learned man, was nevertheless a negligent tutor; 
and one that encouraged his pupils in habits of indolence, 
not a little injurious to their future welfare. Here he remained 
seven years, and had frequent reason to complain of the 
same unkind treatment from some of his schoolfellows, 
which he had before experienced. His timid, meek, and 
inoffensive spirit totally unfitted him for the hardships of a 
public school; and in all probability, the treatment he 
there received, produced in him an insuperable aversion to 
this method of instruction. We know but little of the 
actual progress he made while under the care of Dr. 
Nicholls ; his subsequent eminence, however, as a scholar, 
proves that he must have been an attentive pupil, and 
must have made, at this period, a highly creditable profi- 
ciency in his studies. 

While at this school, he was roused a second time to se- 
rious consideration. Crossing a churchyard late one evening, 
he saw a glimmering light in rather a remote part of it, 
which so excited his curiosity, as to induce him to ap- 
proach it. Just as he arrived at the spot, a grave-digger, 
who was at work by the light of his lanthorn, threw up a 
skull-bone, which struck him on the leg. This little inci- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 7 

dent alarmed his conscience, and drew from him many 
painful reflections. The impression, however, was only 
temporary, and in a short time the event was entirely for- 
gotten. 

On another occasion, not long afterwards, he again at 
this early age, became the subject of religious impressions. 
It was the laudable practice of Dr. Nicholls to take great 
pains to prepare his pupils for confirmation. The Doctor 
acquitted himself of this duty like one who had a deep 
sense of its importance, and young Cowper was struck by 
his manner, and much affected by his exhortations. He 
now, for the first time in" his life, attempted prayer in 
secret, but being little accustomed to that exercise of the 
heart, and having very childish notions of religion, he 
found it a difficult and painful task, and was even then 
alarmed at his own insensibility. These impressions, how- 
ever, like those made upon his mind before, soon wore off, 
and he relapsed into a total forgetfulness of God, with the 
usual disadvantage of being more hardened, for having 
been softened to no purpose. This was evidently the case 
with him, for on being afterwards seized with the small- 
pox, though he was in the most imminent danger, yet 
neither in the course of the disease, nor during his reco- 
very from it, had he any sentiments of contrition, or any 
thoughts of God or eternity. He, however, derived one 
advantage from it — it removed, to a great degree, if it did 
not entirely cure, the disease in his eyes, proving, as he 
afterwards observed in a letter to Mr. Hayley, ' a better 
oculist than the lady who had had him under her care.' 

Such was the character of young Cowper, in his eigh- 
teenth year, when he left Westminster School. He had 
made a respectable proficiency in all his studies ; but not- 
withstanding his previous serious impressions, he seems 
not to have had any more knowledge of the nature of reli- 



8 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

gion, nor even to have discovered any more concern about 
it, than many other individuals have been known to feel, at 
an early age, who have never afterwards given it any at- 
tention. After spending six months at home, he was 
articled to a solicitor, with whom he was engaged to remain 
three years. In this gentleman's family, he neither saw 
nor heard any thing that could remind him of a single 
Christian duty; and here he might have lived utterly ignorant 
of the God that made him, had he not been providentially 
situated near his uncle's, in Southampton-row. At this 
favourite retreat, he was permitted to spend all his leisure 
time, and so seldom was he employed, that this was by far 
the greater part of it. With his uncle's family he passed 
nearly all his Sundays, and with some part of it he re- 
gularly attended public worship, but for which, probably, 
he would otherwise, owing to the force of evil example, 
have entirely neglected. 

The choice of a profession for a youth is ever of para- 
mount importance; if injudiciously made, it not unfre- 
quently lays the foundation for much future disappoint- 
ment and sorrow. It would certainly have been difficult, 
and perhaps impossible, to have selected one more unsuit- 
able to the mind of Cowper than that of the law. As Mr. 
Hay ley justly observes, " The law is a kind of soldiership, 
and, like the profession of arms, it may be said to require 
for the constitution of its heroes, 

" A frame of adamant, a soul of fire." 

" The soul of Cowper had, indeed, its fire, but fire so 
refined and etherial, that it could not be expected to 
shine in the gross atmosphere of worldly contention." 
Reserved to an unusual and extraordinary degree, he was 
ill qualified to contend with the activity unavoidably con- 
nected with this profession. Though he possessed the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 9 

strongest powers of mind, and a richly-cultivated under- 
standing, yet were they combined with such extreme sensi- 
bility, as totally disqualified him for the bustle of a court. 
An excessive tenderness, associated with a degree of shy- 
ness, not easily to be accounted for, utterly unfitted him 
for a profession that would often have placed him before 
the public, and brought him into contact with individuals 
not remarkable for such qualities. His extreme modesty, 
however, while it precluded the possibility of his being suc- 
cessful in this profession, endeared him inexpressibly to all 
who had the felicity to enjoy his society. Never was there a 
mind more admirably formed for communicating to others, 
in private life, the richest sources of enjoyment; and yet, 
such were the peculiarities of his nature, that often, while 
he delighted and interested all around him, he was himself 
extremely unhappy. The following lines, composed by 
him about this time, are not less valuable, for the develop- 
ment they give of the state of his mind at that period, 
than they are remarkable for their exquisite tenderness 
and poetic beauty: — 

" Doomed as I am in solitude to waste 
The present moments, and regret the past ; 
Deprived of every joy I valued most, 
My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost ; 
Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, 
The dull effect of humour or of spleen. 
Still, still I mourn, with each returning day, 
Him* snatched by fate in early youth away ; 
And her through tedious years of doubt and pain, 
Fix'd in her choice, and faithful — but in vain ! 
O, prone to pity, generous, and sincere, 
Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear; 

* Sir William Russell, Bart., a favourite friend of the young poet. 






10 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows, 
Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes ; 
See me, — ere yet my destined course half done, 
Cast forth a wanderer on a world unknown ! 
See me neglected on the world's rude coast, 
Each dear companion of my voyage lost ! 
Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow, 
And ready tears wait only leave to flow ! 
Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free, 
All that delights the happy, palls with me ! 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. H 



CHAPTER II. 

Entrance into the Temple — Employment there — Depression of his 
mind — Religious impressions — Visit to Southampton — Sudden 
removal of sorrow — Death of his father — Appointment to the 
office of reading clerk in the House of Lords — Dread of appearing 
in public — Consequent abandonment of the situation — Is proposed 
as clerk of the Journals — Feelings on the occasion — Visit to 
Margate — Return to London — Preparation for entering upon his 
office — Distressing sensations on the occasion — is compelled to 
relinquish it for ever — Serious attack of depression — Visit of his 
brother. 

At the age of 21, in 1752, Cowper left the solicitor's 
house, and took possession of a complete set of chambers 
in the Inner Temple. Here he remained nearly twelve 
years. And as this may justly be considered the most va- 
luable part of life, it must ever be regretted that he suf- 
fered it to pass away so unprofitably. During this im- 
portant and lengthened period he scarcely did any thing 
more than compose a few essays and poems, either to gra- 
tify, or to assist, some literary friend. Prompted by bene- 
volent motives, he furnished several pieces for a work, en- 
titled "The Connoisseur," edited by Robert Lloyd, Esq., 
to whom he was sincerely and warmly attached. 

The following extract from a most playful poetic epistle, 
addressed to that gentlemen, will be read with interest, as it 
shews that he began at that time to feel symptoms of the 
depressive malady, which afterwards became to him a 
source of so much misery. 



12 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

v " Tis not that I design to rob 

Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob, 

For thou art born sole heir, and single, 

Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle ; 

Nor that I mean, while thus I knit 

My thread-bare sentiments together, 

To shew my genius, or my wit, 

When God and you know I have neither; 

Or such as might be better shewn, 

By letting poetry alone. 

'Tis not with either of these views 

That I presume to address the muse ; 

But to divert a fierce banditti 

(Sworn foes to every thing, that's witty) ; 

That with a black infernal train, 

Make cruel inroads on my brain, 

And daily threatens to drive thence 

My little garrison of sense ; 

The fierce banditti which I mean, 

Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen." 

While he remained in the Temple he cultivated the 
friendship of the most distinguished writers of the day ; and 
took a lively interest in their publications, as they ap- 
peared. Instead, however, of applying his richly furnished 
mind to the composition of some original work, for which, 
the pieces he incidentally wrote, proved him fully compe- 
tent, his timid spirit contented itself with occasional dis- 
plays of its rich and varied capabilities. Translation from 
ancient and modern poets was one of his most favourite 
amusements. So far, however, was he from deriving any 
benefit from these compositions, most of which were mas- 
terly productions, that he invariably distributed them gra- 
tuitously among his friends, as they might happen to 
request them. In this way he assisted his amiable friend 
and scholar, Mr. Duncombe ; for we find in Duncombe's 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 13 

Horace, published by him in 1759, that two of the satires 
were translated by Cowper. 

When Cowper entered the Temple 9 he paid little or no 
attention to religion ; all those serious' impressions which 
he had once experienced were gone ; and he was left, at 
that dangerous and critical season of life, surrounded by 
innumerable most powerful temptations, without any other 
principles for his guide, than the corrupt affections of our 
common nature. It pleased God, however, at the very 
outset, to prevent him from pursuing that rash and ruinous 
career of wickedness, into which many plunge with heed-, 
less and awful insensibility. The feelings of his peculiarly 
sensitive mind on this occasion he thus describes. 

" Not long after my settlement in the Temple, I was 
struck with such a dejection of spirits, as none but those 
who have felt the same can have the least conception of. 
Day and night I was upon the rack, lying down in horror, 
and rising up in despair. I presently lost all relish for 
those studies to which I had before been closely attached ; 
the classics had no longer any charms for me ; I had need 
of something more salutary than amusement, but I had no 
one to direct me where to find it." 

"At length I met with Herbert's poems; and, gothic 
and uncouth as they are, I yet found in them a strain of 
piety which I could not but admire. This was the only 
author I had any delight in treading. I pored over him 
all day long ; and though I found not in his work what I 
might have found — a cure for my malady, yet my mind 
never seemed so much alleviated as while I was reading it. 
At length I was advised, by a very near and dear relative, 
to lay it aside, for he thought such an author more 
likely to nourish my disorder than to remove it." 

u In this state of mind I continued near a twelvemonth; 
when, having experienced the inefficacy of all human 



14 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPF.R. 

means, I at length betook myself to God in prayer. Such 
is the rank our Redeemer holds in our esteem, that we 
never resort to him but in the last instance, when all crea- 
tures have failed to succour us ! My bard heart was at 
length softened, and my stubborn knees brought to bow. 
I composed a set of prayers, and made frequent use of 
them. Weak as my faith was, the Almighty, who will not 
break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax, was 
graciously pleased to listen to my cry, instead of frowning 
me away in anger." 

" A change of scene was recommended to me ; and I 
embraced an opportunity of going with some friends to 
Southampton, where I spent several months. Soon after 
our arrival, we walked to a place called Freemantle, about 
a mile from the town ; the morning was clear and calm ; 
the sun shone brightly upon the sea, and the country on 
the border of it was the most beautiful I had ever seen. 
We sat down upon an eminence, at the end of that arm of 
the sea which runs between Southampton and the New 
Forest. Here it was, that on a sudden, as if another sun 
had been created that instant in the heavens on purpose 
to dispel sorrow and vexation of spirit, I felt the weight of 
all my misery taken off; my heart became light and joyful 
in a moment ; I could have wept with transport had I been 
alone. I must needs believe that nothing less than the 
Almighty fiat could have filled me with such inexpressible 
delight; not by a gradual dawning of peace, but, as it 
were, with a flash of his life-giving countenance. I felt a 
glow of gratitude to the Father of mercies for this unex- 
pected blessing, and ascribed it, at first, to his gracious 
acceptance of my prayers ; but Satan and my own wicked 
heart quickly persuaded me that I was indebted for my 
deliverance to nothing but a change of scene, and the 
amusing varieties of the place. By this means, he turned 




THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 15 

the blessing into a poison ; teaching me to conclude, that 
nothing but a continued circle of diversion, and indulgence 
of appetite, could secure me from a relapse. Acting upon 
this false and pernicious principle, as soon as I returned to 
London, I burnt my prayers, and away went all my 
thoughts of devotion, and of dependence upon God my 
Saviour. Surely, it was of his mercy that I was not con- 
sumed. Glory be to his grace !" 

" I obtained, at length, so complete a victory over my 
conscience, that all remonstrances from that quarter were 
in vain, and in a manner silenced, though sometimes, in- 
deed, a question would arise in my mind, whether it were 
safe to proceed any farther in a course so plainly and ut- 
terly condemned in the Scriptures. I saw clearly, that if 
the gospel were true, such a conduct must inevitably end 
in my destruction ; but I saw not by what means I could 
change my Ethiopian complexion, or overcome such an in- 
veterate habit of rebelling against God." 

" The next thing that occurred to me, at such a time, 
was, a doubt whether the gospel were true or false. To 
this succeeded many an anxious wish for the deckion of 
this important question; for I foolishly thought that obe- 
dience would follow, were I but convinced that it was 
worth while to attend to it. Raving no reason to expect 
a miracle, and not hoping to be satisfied with any thing 
less, I acquiesced, at length, in favour of that impious con- 
clusion, that the only course I could take to secure my 
present peace, was to wink hard against the prospects of 
future misery, and to resolve to banish all thoughts of a 
subject upon which I thought to so little purpose. Never- 
theless, when I was in the company of deists, and heard 
the gospel blasphemed, I never failed to assert the truth of 
it with much vehemence of disputation, for which I was 
the better qualified, having been always an industrious 



]6 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

and diligent enquirer into the evidences by which it is ex- 
ternally supported. I think I once went so far into a con- 
troversy of this kind as to assert, that I would gladly sub- 
mit to have my right hand cut off, so that I might but be 
enabled to live according to the gospel. Thus have I been 
employed in vindicating the truth of Scripture, while in 
the very act of rebelling against its dictates. Lamentable 
inconsistency of a convinced judgment with an unsanctified 
heart! — an inconsistency, indeed, evident to others as 
well as to myself ; inasmuch as a deistical companion of 
mine, with whom I was disputing upon the subject, cut 
short the matter by alleging, that if what I said were true, 
I was certainly condemned, by my own showing." 

In 1756, Cowper sustained a heavy domestic loss, in the 
death of his excellent father, towards whom he had always 
felt the strongest parental regard. Such, however, was the 
depressed state of his mind at this season, that he was much 
less affected by the solemn event, than he would probably 
have been had it occurred at any earlier or later period of his 
life. Perceiving that he should inherit but little fortune 
from his father, he now found it necessary to adopt some 
plan to augment his income. It became every day more 
apparent to his friends, as well as to himself, that his ex- 
treme diffidence precluded the possibility of his being suc- 
cessful in his profession. After much anxiety of mind on 
this subject, he at length mentioned it to a friend, who 
had two situations at his disposal, the Reading Clerk, and 
Clerk of the Journals in the House of Lords — situations, 
either of which Cowper then thought would suit him, and one 
of which he expressed a desire to obtain, should a vacancy 
occur. Quite unexpectedly to him, as well as to his friend, 
both these places, in a short time afterwards, became va- 
cant ; and as the Reading Clerk's was much the more valu- 
able of the two, his friend generously offered it to him, 



I 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ]? 

which offer he gladly and gratefully accepted, and he was 
accordingly appointed to it in his thirty-first year. 

All his friends were delighted with this providential 
opening: he himself, at first, looked forward to it with 
pleasure, intending, as soon as he was settled, to unite 
himself with an amiable and accomplished young lady, 
one of his first cousins, for whom he had long cherished a 
tender attachment. These fond hopes, however, were 
never realized. The situation required him to appear at 
the bar of the House of Peers ; and the apprehension of 
this public exhibition quite overwhelmed his meek and 
gentle spirit. So acute were his distressing apprehensions, 
that, notwithstanding the previous efforts he made to qua- 
lify himself for the office, long before the day arrived that 
he w 7 as to enter upon it, such was the embarrassed and 
melancholy state of his mind, that he was compelled to 
relinquish it entirely. His harassed and dejected feelings 
on this occasion he thus affectingly describes : — 

" All the considerations by which I endeavoured to 
compose my mind to its former tranquillity, did but tor- 
ment me the more, proving miserable comforters, and 
counsellors of no value. I returned to my chambers, 
thoughtful and unhappy ; my countenance fell ; and my 
friend was astonished, instead of that additional cheerful- 
ness which he mio-ht have so reasonably expected, to find 
an air of deep melancholy in all I said or did. Having 
been harassed in this manner, by day and night, for the 
space of a week, perplexed between the apparent folly of 
casting away the only visible chance I had of being well 
provided for, and the impossibility of retaining it, I deter- 
mined at length to write a letter to my friend, though he 
lodged, in a manner, at the next door, and we generally 
spent the day tooether. I did so, and begged him to accept 
my resignation of the Reading Clerk's place, and to appoint 

c 



]8 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

me to the other situation. I was well aware of the dispro- 
portion between the value of the appointments, but my 
peace was gone : pecuniary advantages were not equivalent 
to what I had lost ; and I flattered myself that the Clerk- 
ship of the Journals would fall, fairly and easily, within 
the scope of my abilities. Like a man in a fever, I 
thought a change of posture would relieve my pain, and, 
as the event will show, was equally disappointed. My 
friend, at length, after considerable reluctance, accepted 
of my resignation, and appointed me to the least profit- 
able office. The matter being thus settled, something like 
a calm took place in my mind : I was, indeed, not a little 
concerned about my character, being aware that it must 
needs suffer by the strange appearance of my proceeding. 
This, however, being but a small part of the anxiety I had 
laboured under, was hardly felt when the rest was taken 
off. I thought my path towards an easy maintenance was 
now plain and open, and, for a day or two, was tolerably 
cheerful: but, behold, the storm was gathering all the 
while, and the fury of it was not the less violent from this 
gleam of sunshine." 

" A strong opposition to my friend's right of nomination 
began to show itself. A powerful party was formed among 
the Lords to thwart it, and it appeared plain, that if we 
succeeded at last, it could only be by fighting our ground 
by inches. Every advantage, I was told, would be sought 
for, and eagerly seized, to disconcert us. I was led to ex- 
pect an examination at the bar of the House, touching my 
sufficiency for the post I had taken. Being necessarily 
ignorant of the nature of that business, it became expe- 
dient that I should visit the office daily, in order to qualify 
myself for the strictest scrutiny. All the horror of my 
fears and perplexities now returned ; a thunderbolt would 
have been as welcome to me as this intelligence. I knew 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 19 

that, upon such terms, the Clerkship of the Journals was 
no place for me. To require my attendance at the bar of 
the House, that I might there publicly entitle myself to 
the office, was, in effect, to exclude me from it. In the 
mean time, the interest of my friend, the causes of his 
choice, and my own reputation and circumstances, all 
urged me forward, and pressed me to undertake that 
which I saw to be impracticable. They whose spirits are 
formed like mine, to whom a public exhibition of them- 
selves, on any occasion, is mortal poison, may have some 
idea of the horror of my situation — others can have none. 
My continual misery at length brought on a nervous fever : 
quiet forsook me by day, and peace by night ; even a finger 
raised against me seemed more than I could bear." 

" In this posture of mind, I attended regularly at the 
office, where, instead of a soul upon the rack, the most 
active spirits were essential to my purpose. I expected 
no'assistance from any one there, all the inferior clerks 
being under the influence of my opponents ; accordingly, 
I received none. The Journal books were, indeed, thrown 
open to me, a thing which could not be refused, and from 
which, perhaps, a man in health, with a head turned to 
business, might have gained all the information wanted. 
But it was not so with me. I read without perception, and 
was so distressed, that had every clerk in the office been 
my friend, it would have availed me little, for I was not in 
a condition to receive instruction, much less to elicit it 
from manuscripts, without direction.'* 

The following extract from a letter to his amiable cousin 
Lady Hesketh, written 9th August, 1763, through which 
runs that happy mixture, of what may not perhaps im- 
properly be termed, playful seriousness, which distinguishes 
almost the whole of his epistolary productions, and imparts 
to them a charm superior to that of almost any other 

c2 



20 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

writer, will illustrate the state of his mind at that period. 
" Having promised to write to you, I make haste to be as 
good as my word. I have a pleasure in writing to you 
at any time, but especially at the present, when my days 
are spent in reading the Journals, and my nights in 
dreaming of them, an employment not very agreeable to a 
head that has long been habituated to the luxury of 
choosing its subject, and has been as little employed upon 
business, as if it had grown upon the shoulders of a much 
wealthier gentleman. But the numscull pays for it now, 
and will not presently forget the discipline it has under- 
gone lately. If I succeed in this doubtful piece of pro- 
motion, I shall have at least the satisfaction to reflect upon, 
that the volumes I write will be treasured up with the 
utmost care for ages, and will last as long as the English 
constitution, a duration which ought to satisfy the vanity 
of any author. Oh my good cousin ! If I was to open my 
heart to you, I could shew you strange sights ; nothing, I 
flatter myself, that would shock you, but a good deal that 
would make you wonder. I am of a very singular temper, 
and very unlike all the men that I have ever conversed 
with. Certainly I am not an absolute fool ; but I have 
more weakness than the greatest pf all fools I can recollect 
at present. In short, if I was as fit for the next world as 
I am unfit for this — and God forbid that I should speak 
it in vanity — I would not change conditions with any 
saint in Christendom. Ever since I was born, I have been 
good at disappointing the most natural expectations. Many 
years ago, cousin, there was a possibility that I might 
prove a very different thing from what I am at present. 
My character is now fixed, and rivetted fast upon me ,* 
and, between friends, is not a very splendid one, or likely 
to be guilty of much fascination." 

Many months was Cowper thus employed, constant in 




THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 21 

the use of means to qualify himself for the office, yet des- 
pairing as to the issue. At length he says, 

" The vacation being pretty far advanced, I repaired to 
Margate. There, by the help of cheerful company, a new 
scene, and the intermission of my painful employment, I 
presently began to recover my spirits; though even here, 
for some time after my arrival, (notwithstanding, perhaps, 
the preceding day had been spent agreeably, and without 
any disturbing recollection of my circumstances,) my first 
reflections, when I awoke in the morning, were horrible 
and full of wretchedness. I looked forward to the ap- 
proaching winter, and regretted the flight of every moment 
which brought it nearer, like a man borne away, by a rapid 
torrent, into a stormy sea, whence he sees no possibility of 
returning, and where he knows he cannot subsist. By 
degrees, I acquired such a facility in turning away my 
thoughts from the ensuing crisis, that, for weeks together, 
I hardly adverted to it at all : but the stress of the tempest 
was yet to come, and was not to be avoided by any resolu- 
tion of mine to look another way." 

" How wonderful are the works of the Lord, and his 
ways past finding out ! Thus was he preparing me for an 
event which I least of all expected, even the reception of 
his blessed gospel, working by means which, in all human 
contemplation, must needs seem directly opposite to that 
purpose, but which, in his wise and gracious disposal, 
have, I trust, effectually accomplished it." 

In October, 1763, Cowper was again required to attend 
the office, and prepare for the final push. This recalled 
all his fears, and produced a renewal of all his former mi- 
sery. On revisiting the scene of his previous ineffectual 
labours, he felt himself pressed by difficulties on either 
side, with nothing before him but prospects of gloom and 
despair. He saw that he must either keep possession of 



22 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

the situation to the last extremity, and thus expose him- 
self to the risk of public rejection for his insufficiency, or 
relinquish it at once, and thus run the hazard of ruining 
his benefactor's right of appointment, and losing the only 
chance he seemed to have of procuring for himself a com- 
fortable competence for life, and of being united to the in- 
dividual to whom he was most tenderly and affectionately 
attached. 

His terrors on this occasion had become so overwhelm- 
ing, as to induce that lamented aberration of mind under 
which he is generally known to have suffered. The dread- 
ful apprehensions which for so long a time had haunted 
him day and night, leaving him not a moment's interval of 
peace, had, at length, wound him up to the highest pitch 
of mental agony. The anguish of his lacerated spirit was 
inconceivable. The idea of appearing in public was, to his 
gentle but amiable mind, even more bitter than death. To 
his disordered perception there appeared no possibility for 
him to escape from the horrors of his situation, but by an 
escape from life itself. Death, which he had always shud- 
dered at before, he began ardently to wish for now. He 
could see nothing before him but difficulties perfectly in- 
surmountable. The supposed ruined state of his pecuniary 
circumstances — the imagined contempt of his relations 
and acquaintance — and the apprehended prejudice he 
should do his patron, urged the fatal expedient upon his 
shattered intellect, which he now meditated with inexpres- 
sible energy. 

At this important crisis, when it pleased God, who giveth 
not to man an account of his proceedings, to permit a 
cloud, darker than midnight, to gather round the mind of 
the poet, so that he saw no possible way of escape but the 
one above alluded to, and when he peculiarly needed the 
counsel of some judicious and kind friend, it so happened 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 23 

that lie fell successively into the company of two most un- 
happy sophists, who both advanced claims to the right of 
self-destruction, and whose fallacious arguments won him 
over to their pernicious views. This was, unhappily, ren- 
dered more easy than it otherwise would have been, by his 
recollection of an impious book which he had read when 
very young, the arguments of which, though they then ap- 
peared to him, in their true light, as utterly inconclusive 
and perfectly contemptible, now came afresh to his dis- 
ordered mind, and seemed irrefutable : the situation in 
which he was now placed, inducing him to catch eagerly 
at any thing that would justify the means of relief to 
which he wished to resort. How careful ought all to be, 
who are intrusted with the education of youth, that no 
pernicious books may fall into their hands ! No evil con- 
sequences may, perhaps, arise from it at the time, but who 
can calculate what may be the future results ? 

The disordered state of Cowper's mind, at this period, 
will be seen by the following anecdote. Taking up a 
newspaper for the day, his eye caught a satirical letter 
which it happened to contain, and though it had no rela- 
tion whatever to his case, he doubted not but the writer 
was fully acquainted with his purpose, and, in fact, in- 
tended to hasten its execution. Wrought up to a degree 
of anguish almost unbearable, he now experienced a con- 
vulsive agitation that in a manner deprived him of all his 
powers. Hurried on by the deplorable inducements above 
related, and perceiving no possibility of escaping from his 
misery by any other means, all around him wearing only 
an aspect of gloom and despair, it will be no wonder to 
the reader, that before the tremendous day approached, the 
day on which his tender spirit was to have encountered an 
examination before the House of Lords, he had made se- 
veral attempts at the escape above alluded to. Most hap- 



24 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

pily, indeed, and most mercifully, for himself and for others, 
they were only attempts ; for it was the will of a gracious 
Providence, not only to preserve his life for the exercise of 
a sound and vigorous mind, but to make that mind an in- 
strument of incalculable benefit to his country, and, we 
may almost say, to the world, by advancing and promot- 
ing the best interests of mankind, morality, and religion. 

The depths of affliction and sorrow which the amiable 
sufferer now endured were such, that he might truly say, 
with the Psalmist, " All thy waves and thy billows are 
gone over me, I am troubled. I am bowed down greatly, 
my heart is pained within me, my sorrow is continually 
before me ; fearfulness and trembling are come upon me. I 
sink in deep mire where is no standing, T am come into 
deep waters where the floods overflow me." When at 
length the long-dreaded day arrived, the approach of which 
he had feared more than he feared death itself, such were 
the melancholy results of his distress, that all his friends 
immediately acquiesced in the propriety of his relinquish- 
ing the situation for ever. Thus ended his connection with 
the House of Lords; unhappily, however, his sufferings 
did not end here. Despair still inflicted on him its dead- 
liest sting, and he saw not how it could be extracted ; 
Grief poured its full tide of anguish into his heart, and 
he could perceive nothing before him but one interminable 
prospect of misery. 

" O Providence ! mysterious are thy ways ! 
Inflexible thine everlasting plans ! 
The finite power of man can ne'er resist 
The unseen hand which guides, protects, preserves, 
Nor penetrate the inscrutable designs 
Of Him, whose council is his sovereign will. 
Prosperity's bright sun withdraws his beams, 
Thick clouds and tempests gather round the sky, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 25 

The winds of fierce temptations, and the waves 
Of trials fell, assault the feeble bark, 
And drive it headlong 'midst the cragged rocks. 
We look with wonder on, but seek in vain 
The deep designs of Heaven herein to scan; 
The sacred page itself reveals not this. 
Yet who that knows there is a Power above 
Would not ' assert eternal Providence, 
And justify the works of God to man?'" 

At this period of the poet's history, it appears desirable 
to remark, in confutation of those who attribute, or at least 
endeavour to attribute, his malady to his religion, that, 
viewed either as an originating cause, or in any other 
light, it can never be proved to have had any connection 
with it. It will not be denied, that those sacred truths, 
which, in all cases where they are properly received, prove 
an unfailing source of the most salutary contemplation to 
the underanged mind, were in his case, through the dis- 
torting medium of his malady, converted into a vehicle of 
intellectual poison. It is, however, as Dr. Johnson well 
observes, " a most erroneous and unhappy idea to suppose, 
that those views of Christianity which Cowper adopted, 
and of which, when enjoying the intervals of reason, after 
he was brought to the knowledge of them, he was so bright 
an ornament, had in any degree contributed to excite the 
malady with which he was afflicted. It is capable of the 
clearest demonstration that nothing was further from the 
truth. On the contrary, all those alleviations of sorrow, 
those delightful anticipations of heavenly rest, those healing 
consolations to a wounded spirit, of which he was permitted 
to taste, at the period when uninterrupted reason resumed 
its sway, were unequivocally to be ascribed to the opera- 
tion of those very principles and views of religion, which, 
in the instance before us have been charged with pro- 



26 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



ducing so opposite an effect. The primary aberration of 
his mental faculties were wholly to be attributed to other 
causes," as indeed will satisfactorily appear, by the fol- 
lowing affecting description he has given of himself at this 
period. 

" To this moment I had felt no concern of a spiritual 
kind : ignorant of original sin ; insensible of the guilt of 
actual transgression, I understood neither the law nor the 
gospel — the condemning nature of the one, nor the re- 
storing mercies of the other. I was as much unacquainted 
with Christ in all his saving offices as if his name had 
never reached me. Now, therefore, a new scene opened 
upon me." 

(< My sins were set in array against me, and I began to 
see and feel that I had lived without God in the world. 
One moment I thought myself shut out from mercy by one 
chapter, and the next by another. The sword of the 
Spirit seemed to guard the tree of life against my touch, 
and to flame against me in every avenue by which I at- 
tempted to approach it. I particularly remember, that the 
parable of the barren fig-tree was to me an inconceivable 
source of anguish. I applied it to my case, with a strong 
persuasion that it was a curse pronounced on me by the 
Saviour." 

"In every volume I opened I found something that 
struck me to the heart. I remember taking up one ; and 
the first sentence I saw condemned me. Every thing 
seemed to preach to me, not the gospel of mercy, but the 
curse of the law. In a word, I saw myself a sinner alto- 
gether ; but I saw not yet a glimpse of the mercy of God 
in Christ Jesus the Lord." 

Cowper now wrote to his brother to inform him of the 
afflicting circumstances in which he was placed. His 
brother immediately paid him a visit, and employed every 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 27 

means in his power to alleviate his distress. All his efforts, 
however, proved unavailing ; he found him almost over- 
whelmed with despair, pertinaciously maintaining, in spite 
of all remonstrances to the contrary, that he had been 
guilty of the unpardonable sin, in not properly improving 
the mercy of God towards him at Southampton. No fa- 
vourable construction put upon his conduct, in that in- 
stance by his brother, nor any argument he employed, af- 
forded him a moment's alleviation of his distress. He 
rashly concluded that he had no longer any interest in the 
atonement, or in the gifts of the Spirit, and that nothing 
was left for him but the dismal prospect of eternally en- 
during the wrath of God. His brother, pierced to the heart 
at the sight of his misery, used every means to comfort 
him, but all to no purpose, so deeply seated was his de- 
pression, that it rendered utterly useless all the soothing 
reflections that were suggested. 

At this trying period Cowper remembered his friend and 
relative, the Rev. Martin Madan ; and, though he had 
always considered him an enthusiast, he was now con- 
vinced that, if there was any balm in Gilead for him, Mr. 
Madan was the only person who could administer it. His 
friend lost no time in paying him a visit; and perceiving 
the state of his mind, he began immediately to declare 
unto him the gospel of Christ. He spcke of original sin, 
of the corruption of every man born into the world ; of the 
efficacy of the atonement made by Jesus Christ ; of the 
Redeemer's compassion for lost sinners, and of the full 
salvation provided for them in the gospel. He then ad- 
verted to the Saviour's intercession ; described him as a 
compassionate Redeemer, who felt deeply interested in the 
welfare of every true penitent, who could sympathize with 
those who were in distress, and who was able to save unto 
the uttermost all that come unto God by him. To this 



28 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

important information Cowper listened with the greatest 
attention ; hope seemed to dawn upon his disconsolate 
mind ; his heart burned within him while he listened to the 
word of life ; his soul was pierced with a sense of his great 
ingratitude to so merciful a Saviour; tears of contrition 
burst from his eyes ; he saw clearly that this was the re- 
medy his case required ; and felt fully persuaded that 
this was indeed the gospel of salvation. He, however, 
wanted that faith, without which he could not recover its 
blessings. He saw the suitability of this gospel to his cir- 
cumstances, but saw not yet how one, so vile as he con- 
ceived himself to be, could hope to partake of its benefits. 

Mr. Madan urged the necessity of a lively faith in the 
Redeemer, not as an assent of the understanding only, but 
as the cordial belief of the heart unto righteousness ; as- 
sured him, that though faith was the gift of God, yet was 
it a gift that our heavenly Father was most willing to 
bestow, not on one only, but on all that sought it by earnest 
and persevering prayer. Cowper deeply deplored the want 
of this faith, and could only reply to his friend's remarks, 
in a brief but very sincere petition, " Most earnestly do I 
wish it would please God to bestow it on me." 

His brother, perceiving he had received some benefit 
fiom this interview, in his desire to relieve the poet's de- 
pressed mind, wisely overlooked the difference of sentiments 
on the great Subjects of religion, which then existed 
between himself and Mr. Madan, and discovered the 
greatest anxiety, that he should embrace the earliest op- 
portunity to converse with him again. He now urged 
Cowper to visit Mr. Madan at his own house, and offered 
to accompany him thither. After much entreaty Cowper 
consented ; and though the conversation was not then the 
means of affording him any permanent relief, it was not 
without its use. He was easier, but not easy ; the wounded'' 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 29 

spirit within him was less in pain, but by no means healed. 
A long train of still greater terrors than any he had yet 
endured was at hand ; and when he awoke the next morn- 
ing, after a few hours' sleep, he seemed to feel a stronger 
alienation from God than ever. He was now again the 
subject of the deepest mental anguish ; the sorrows of 
death seemed to encompass, and the pains of hell to get 
hold of hiui ; his ears rang with the sound of the torments 
that seemed to await him; his terrified imagination pre- 
sented to him many horrible visions, and led him to conceive 
that he heard many horrible sounds; his heart seemed at 
every pulse to beat its last; his conscience scared him; 
the avenger of blood seemed to pursue him ; and he saw 
no city of refuge into which he could flee ; every moment 
he expected the earth would open, and swallow him up. 

He was now suddenly attacked with that nervous affec- 
tion, of which the peculiar form of his mind seemed to have 
made him susceptible, which, on several subsequent occa- 
sions darkened his brightest prospects, and which, ulti- 
mately overwhelmed his meek and gentle spirit, and caused 
him to end his days in circumstances the most gloomy and 
sorrowful. So violent was the attack on this occasion, 
that his friends instantly perceived the change, and con- 
sulted on the best manner to dispose of him. Dr. Cotton 
then kept an establishment at St. Alban's for the reception 
of such patients. His skill as a physician, his well-known 
humanity and sweetness of temper, and the acquaintance 
that had subsisted between him and the afflicted patient, 
slight as it was, determined them to place him under the doc- 
tor's care. No determination could have been more wisely 
taken ; and subsequent events proved it to have been under 
His superintendence, who orders all things according to the 
councils of his own will, and who, with the tenderest so- 
licitude, watches over his people ; managing those events 



30 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

which to us appear contingent, on principles of unerring 
wisdom ; and overruling them for the accomplishment of 
his gracious and benevolent intentions. 

" An anxious world may sigh in vain for what 
Kind Heaven decrees in goodness to withhold ; 
But the momentous volume of his mind, 
When seen in yonder world, shall be approved, 
And all its plans pronounced unerring love/' 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 31 



CHAPTER III. 

His removal to St. Albans — Painful state of his mind there — Receives 
a visit from his brother — Good effects of it — His recovery — How 
it was effected — His subsequent happiness — Pleasing conversation 
with Dr. Cotton — The delightful manner in which he now passed 
his time — Description of his experience — His gratitude to God — 
Employs his brother to look out for him a new residence — Leaves 
St. Albans — Feelings on the occasion. 

On the 7th December, 1763, he was removed to St. Albans, 
and placed under the care of Dr. Cotton. And, notwith- 
standing the skilful and judicious treatment pursued to 
effect his restoration, he remained in the same gloomy and 
desponding state for five months. Every means that inge- 
nuity could devise, and that benevolence and tenderness 
could prompt, were resorted to for this protracted period in 
vain. To describe in lengthened detail the state of his 
mind during this long interval, would justly be deemed 
injudicious. As Mr. Hayley very properly remarks, " Men- 
tal derangement is a topic of such awful delicacy, that it 
is the duty of a biographer, rather to sink in tender silence, 
than to proclaim with offensive temerity, the minute parti- 
culars of a calamity to which all human beings are exposed, 
and, perhaps, in proportion as they have received from 
nature, those delightful but dangerous gifts — a heart of 
exquisite tenderness, and a mind of creative energy." This, 
as Cowper most beautifully sings ; — 

" This is a sight for pity to peruse, 
Till she resembles faintly what she views ; 
This, of all maladies that man infest, 
Claims most compassion, and receives the least." 



32 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 

Without, however, entering minutely into particulars, on 
this painful subject, it will not be deemed improper to men- 
tion some of the leading facts respecting it, and here we 
shall allow the poet again to become his own biographer. 

" The accuser of the brethren was ever busy with me 
night and day, bringing to my recollection, the commission 
of long-forgotten sins, and charging upon my conscience, 
things of an indifferent nature as atrocious crimes. Con- 
viction of sin and despair of mercy, were the two prominent 
evils with which I was continually tormented. But, blessed 
be the God of my salvation for every sigh I drew, and for 
every tear I shed, since thus it pleased him to judge me 
here, that I might not be judged hereafter." 

" After five months' continued expectation that the divine 
vengeance would plunge me into the bottomless pit, I be- 
came so familiar with despair, as to have contracted a sort 
of hardiness and indifference as to the event. I began to 
persuade myself, that while the execution of the sentence 
was suspended, it would be for my interest to indulge a 
less horrible train of ideas, than I had been accustomed to 
muse upon. I entered into conversation with the doctor, 
laughed at his stories, and told him some of my own to 
match them ; still, however, carrying a sentence of irrevo- 
cable doom in my heart. He observed the seeming alte- 
ration with pleasure, and began to think my recovery well 
nigh completed ; but the only thing that could promote 
and effectuate my cure, was yet wanting; — an experi- 
mental knowledge of the fedemption which is in Christ 
Jesus." 

" About this time my brother came from Cambridge to 
pay me a visit. Dr. C. having informed him, that he 
thought me better, he was disappointed at rinding me al- 
most as silent and reserved as ever. As soon as we were 
left alone, he asked me how I found myself; I answered, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COVVPER. 33 

as much better as despair can make me. We went toge- 
ther into the garden. Here, on my expressing a settled as- 
surance of sudden judgment, he protested to me that it 
was all a delusion ; and protested so strongly, that I could 
not help giving some attention to him. I burst into tears, 
and cried out, If it be a delusion, then am I the happiest 
of beings. Something like a ray of hope, was now shot 
into my heart ; but still I was afraid to indulge it. We 
dined together, and I spent the afternoon in a more cheer- 
ful manner. Something seemed to whisper to me, every 
moment, still there is mercy. Even after he left me, this 
change of sentiment gathered ground continually ; yet, my 
mind was in such a fluctuating state, that I can only call 
it a vague presage of better things at hand, without being 
able to assign any reason for it." 

" A few days after my arrival at St. Albans, I had thrown 
aside the Bible as a book in which I had no longer any in- 
terest or portion. The only instance in which I can recollect 
reading a single chapter ; was about two months before my 
recovery. Having found a Bible on the bench in the gar- 
den, I opened it upon the 11th of John, where the miracle 
of Lazarus being raised from the dead is described ; and I 
saw so much benevolence, goodness, and mercy, in the 
Saviour's conduct, that I almost shed tears at the relation, 
little thinking that it was an exact type of the mercy, which 
Jesus was on the point of extending towards myself. I 
sighed, and said, Oh, that I had not rejected so good a 
Redeemer, that I had not forfeited all his favour ! Thus 
was my hard heart softened ; and though my mind was not 
yet enlightened, God was gradually preparing me for the 
light of his countenance, and the joys of his salvation." 

" The cloud of horror which had so long hung over my 
mind began rapidly to pass away, every moment came 
fraught with hopes. I felt persuaded that I was not utterly 

D 



34 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



doomed to destruction. The way of salvation was still, 
however, hid from my eyes ; nor did I see it clearer than 
before my illness. I only thought, that if it pleased God 
to spare me, I would lead a better life ; and that I would 
yet escape hell, if a religious observance of my duty would 
secure me from it. Thus, may the terror of the Lord make 
a Pharisee ; but only the sweet voice of mercy in the gospel 
can make a Christian." 

" But the happy period, which was to shake off my fetters, 
and afford me a clear discovery of the free mercy of God in 
Christ Jesus, was now arrived. I flung myself into a chair, 
near the window, and seeing a Bible there, ventured once 
more to apply to it for comfort and instruction. The first 
verse I saw, was, the 25th of the 3rd of Romans : ' Whom 
God hath set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his 
blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that 
are past, through the forbearance of God.' Immediately I 
received strength to believe, and the full beams of the sun 
of righteousness shone upon me. I saw the sufficiency of 
the atonement he had made for my pardon and complete 
justification. In a moment I believed, and received the 
peace of the gospel. Whatever my friend Madan had 
said to me, long before, revived in all its clearness, with 
the demonstration of the spirit, and with power." 

" Unless the Almighty arm had been under me, I think 
I should have been overwhelmed with gratitude and joy. 
My eyes filled with tears, and my voice choked with trans- 
port. I could only look up to heaven in silent fear, over- 
whelmed with love and wonder. But the work of the Holy 
Spirit is best described in his own words : — it is ' Joy un- 
speakable and full of glory.' Thus was my heavenly Father 
in Christ Jesus, pleased to give me the full assurance of 
faith ; and, out of a strong, unbelieving heart, to raise up a 
child unto Abraham. How glad should I now have been 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 35 

to have spent every moment in prayer and thanksgiving ! 
I lost no opportunity of repairing to a throne of grace ; but 
flew to it with an earnestness irresistible, and never to be 
satisfied. Could I help it? Could I do otherwise than 
love and rejoice in my reconciled Father in Christ Jesus ? 
The Lord had enlarged my heart, and I could now cheer- 
fully run in the way of his commandments." 

" For many succeeding weeks tears would be ready to 
flow if I did but speak of the gospel, or mention the name 
of Jesus. To rejoice day and night was all my employ- 
ment ; too happy to sleep much, I thought it but lost time 
that was thus spent. Oh, that the ardour of my first love 
had continued ! But I have known many a lifeless and 
unhallowed hour since ; long intervals of darkness, inter- 
rupted by short returns of peace and joy in believing." 

His excellent physician, ever watchful and apprehensive 
for his welfare, now became alarmed, lest the sudden tran- 
sition, from despair to joy, should wholly overpower his 
mind ; but the Lord was his strength and his song, and had 
become his salvation. Christ was now formed in his heart 
the hope of glory ; his fears were all dispelled ; despair, 
with its horrid train of evils, was banished from his mind ; 
a new and delightful scene now opened before him; he 
became the subject of new affections, new desires, and new 
joys ; in a word, old things were passed away, and all things 
were become new. God had brought him up out of the 
horrible pit, and out of the miry clay, and had put a new song 
into his mouth, even praise to his God. He felt the full 
force of that liberty, of which he afterwards sosweetly sung— 

" A liberty unsung 

By poets, and by senators unpraised, 



E'en liberty of heart, derived from heaven ; 
Bought with his blood who gave it to mankind, 
And sealed with the same token !" 
n 2 



36 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

The apprehensions of Dr. C. soon subsided ; he saw with 
delight undoubted proofs of his patient's perfect recovery, 
became satisfied with the soundness of his cure, and sub- 
sequently had much sweet communion with him in con- 
versing about the great things of salvation. He now vi- 
sited him every morning, as long as he remained under his 
care, which was near twelve months after his recovery, and 
the gospel was invariably the delightful theme of their 
conversation. The patient and the physician became thus 
every day more endeared to each other; and Cowper often 
afterwards looked back upon this period, as among the 
happiest days he had ever spent. 

His time no longer hung heavily upon his hands ; but 
every moment of it that he could command was employed 
in seeking to acquire more comprehensive views of the 
gospel. The Bible became his constant companion ; from 
this pure fountain of truth he drank of that living water, 
which was in him a well of water, springing up into ever- 
lasting life. Conversation on spiritual subjects afforded 
him a high degree of enjoyment. Many delightful seasons 
did he spend thus employed, while he remained with his 
beloved physician. His first transports of joy having sub- 
sided, a sweet serenity of spirit succeeded, uninterrupted 
by any of those distressing sensations which he had before 
experienced ; prayer and praise were his daily employment; 
his heart overflowed with love to his Redeemer, and his 
meditation of him was sweet. In his own expressive and 
beautiful lines, he felt — 

" Ere yet mortality's fine threads gave way, 
A clear escape from tyrannizing sin, 
And full immunity from penal woe." 

His application to the study of the Scriptures must at 
this time have been intense ; for in the short space of 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 37 

twelve months he acquired comprehensive and scriptural 
views of the great plan of redemption ; and, in addi- 
tion to this, his conceptions of real Christian experi- 
ence, as distinguished from delusion and hypocrisy, were 
accurate and striking, and such as one would only have 
expected from an experienced Christian. He now com- 
posed two hymns, which exhibit an interesting proof of the 
scriptural character of those religious views he had then 
embraced. These hymns he himself styles specimens 
of his first Christian thoughts. Delightful specimens 
indeed they are ; and the circumstances under which they 
were composed will greatly enhance their value in the minds 
of those to whom they have long been endeared by their 
own intrinsic excellence. The first is upon Revelations 
xxi. 5.; the second is entitled Retirement. The following 
lines of it are so touchingly beautiful, so correctly descriptive 
of the overflowings of his heart in solitude, while he walked 
with God, and was a stranger in the earth, having left his 
own connections, and not yet found new ones in the church ; 
and breathe throughout in strains so pure, tender, and un- 
reserved, the language of the Christian's first love, that 
they cannot fail to be read with deep interest. 

" The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
With prayer and praise agree ; 
And seem by thy sweet bounty made 
For those who follow thee. 

There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, 
And grace her mean abode, 
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, 
She communes with her God. 

There like the nightingale she pours 
Her solitary lays; 
Nor asks a witness of her song, 
Nor thirsts for human praise." 



38 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

His letters, written about this period, as well as those of 
a subsequent date, abound with proofs of his deep ac- 
quaintance with Christian experience. The following re- 
marks are taken from a letter to Mrs. Cowper. "The 
deceitfulness of the natural heart is inconceivable. I 
know well that I passed among my friends for a person at 
least religiously inclined, if not actually religious; and 
what is more wonderful, I thought myself a Christian when 
I had no faith in Christ, and when I saw no beauty in him 
that I should desire him; in short, when I had neither 
faith, nor love, nor any Christian grace whatever, but a 
thousand seeds of rebellion instead, evermore springing up 
in enmity against him; but, blessed be the God of my sal- 
vation, the hail of affliction and rebuke has swept away 
the refuge of lies. It pleased the Almighty, in great 
mercy, to set all my misdeeds before me. At length the 
storm being past, a quick and peaceful serenity of soul 
succeeded, such as ever attends the gift of a lively faith in 
the all-sufficient atonement, and the sweet sense of mercy 
and pardon purchased by the blood of Christ. Thus did 
he break me and bind me up ; thus did he wound me and 
make me whole. This, however, is but a summary account 
of my conversion; neither would a volume contain the 
astonishing particulars of it. If we meet again in this 
world I will relate them to you ; if not, they will serve for 
the subject of a conference in the next, where, I doubt not, 
we shall remember, and record them with a gratitude better 
suited to the subject." 

In another letter to his amiable and accomplished cousin, 
Lady Hesketh, he thus writes. " Since the visit you were 
so kind as to pay me in the Temple, (the only time I ever 
saw you without pleasure,) what have I not suffered ? And 
since it has pleased God to restore me to the use of my 
reason, what have I not enjoyed? You know by expe- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 39 

rience how pleasant it is to feel the first approaches of 
health after a fever • but, oh ! the fever of the brain ! to 
feel the quenching of that fire, is indeed a blessing which 
I think it impossible to receive without the most consum- 
mate gratitude. Terrible as this chastisement is, I ac- 
knowledge in it the hand of infinite justice ; nor is it at all ' 
more difficult for me to perceive in it the hand of infinite 
mercy ; when I consider the effect it has had upon me, I 
am exceedingly thankful for it, and esteem it the greatest 
blessing, next to life itself, I ever received from the divine 
bounty. I pray God I may ever retain the sense of it, and 
then I am sure I shall continue to be, as I am at present, 
really happy. My affliction has taught me a road to hap- 
piness, which, without it, I should never have found ; and 
I know, and have experience of it every day, that the 
mercy of God to the believer is more than sufficient to 
compensate for the loss of every other blessing. You will 
believe that my happiness is no dream, because I have told 
you the foundation on which it is built. What I have 
written would appear like enthusiasm to many, for we are 
apt to give that name to every warm affection of the mind 
in others, which we have not experienced ourselves; but to 
you, who have so much to be thankful for, and a temper 
inclined to gratitude, it will not appear so." 

To the same lady, a day or two afterwards, he writes — 
" How naturally does affliction make us Christians ! and 
how impossible is it, when all human help is vain, and the 
whole earth too poor and trifling to furnish us with one 
moment's peace, how impossible is it then to avoid looking 
at the gospel. It gives me some concern, though at the 
same time it increases my gratitude to reflect, that a con- 
vert made in Bedlam is more likely to be a stumbling block 
to others than to advance their faith. But if it have that 
effect upon any, it is owing to their reasoning amiss, and 



40 i in; i IFE OF u [LL1 \m COWPER. 

drawing their conclusion from false premises. He who 

can ascribe an amendment of life and manners, and a re- 
formation of the heart itself, to madness, is guilty of an 
absurdity, that m any other case would fasten the impu- 
tation of madness upon himself; for, by so doing, he as- 
scribes a reasonable effect to an unreasonable cause, and a 
positive effect to a negative. But when Christianity only 
is to be sacrificed, he that stabs deepest is always the 
wisest man. You, my dear cousin yourself, will be apt to 
think I carry the matter too far: and that in the present 
warmth of m\ hearth, 1 make too ample a concession in 
saying that I am only voir a convert. You think I always 
believed, and 1 thought so too; but you were deceived, and 
so was I. 1 called myself indeed a Christian, but he who 
knows my heart knows thai 1 never did a right thing, nor 
abstained from a wrong one, because 1 was so; but if I 
did either, it was under the influence of some other motive. 
And it is such seeming Christians, such pretending be- 
lievers, that do most mischief in the cause, and furnish the 
strongest arguments to support tin infidelity of its enemi< 
unless profession and conduct go together, the man's life 
is a lie, and the validity of what lie professes itself, is 
called in question. The difference between a Christian and 
an unbeliever, would be so striking, if the treacherous 
allies of the chinch would go over at once to the other side, 
that 1 am satisfied religion would be no loser by the bargain; 
\ cm say, you hope it is not necessary for salvation to un- 
dergo the same affliction that 1 have undergone. No! my 
dear Cousin, God deals with Ins children as a merciful 
father : he does not, as he himself tells us, afflict willingly. 
Doubtless there are many, who, having been placed by his 
good providence out of the reach of evil, and the influence 
of bad example, have, from their very infancy, been par- 
takers of the grace of his Hoi) Spirit, in such a manner, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. 41 

as never to have allowed themselves in any grievous offence 
against him. May you love him more and more, day by 
day, as every day while you think of him you will find 
him more worthy of your love, and may you be finally ac- 
cepted by him for his sake, whose intercession for all his 
faithful servants cannot but prevail." 

In the same letter he thus expresses his gratitude to God 
for placing him under the care of Dr. Cotton : — " I reckon 
it one instance of the providence that has attended me 
through this whole event, that I was not delivered into the 
hands of some London physician, but was carried to Dr. 
Cotton. I was not only treated by him with the greatest 
tenderness while I was ill, and attended with the utmost 
diligence, but when my reason was restored to me, and I 
had so much need of a religious friend to converse with, to 
whom I could open my mind upon the subject without 
reserve, I could hardly have found a better person for the 
purpose. My eagerness and anxiety to settle my opinions 
upon that long neglected point, made it necessary, that 
while my mind was yet weak, and my spirits uncertain, I 
should have some assistance. The doctor was as ready to 
administer relief to me in this article likewise, and as well 
qualified to do it, as in that which was more immediately 
his province. How many physicians would haye thought 
this an irregular appetite, and a sympton of remaining 
madness! But if it were so, my friend was as mad as 
myself, and it is well for me that he was so. My dear 
Cousin, you know not half the deliverances I have received ; 
my brother is the only one in the family who does. My 
recovery is indeed a signal one, and my future life must 
express my thankfulness, for by words I cannot do it." 

He now employed his brother to seek out for him an 
abode somewhere in the neighbourhood of Cambridge, 
as he had determined to leave London, the scene of his 



42 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

former misery; and that nothing might induce him to 
return thither, he resigned the office of commissioner of 
bankrupts, worth about £60. per annum, which he still 
held. By this means, he reduced himself to an income 
barely sufficient for his maintenance ; but he relied upon 
the gracious promise of God, that bread should be given 
him, and water should be sure. 

On being informed that his brother had made many un- 
successful attempts to procure him a suitable dwelling, he, 
one day, poured out his soul in prayer to God, beseeching 
him, that wherever he should be pleased, in his fatherly 
mercy, to place him, it might be in the society of those who 
feared his name, and loved the Lord Jesus in sincerity. 
This prayer, God was pleased, graciously to answer. In 
the beginning of June, 1765, he received a letter from bis 
brother, to say, he had engaged such lodgings for him at 
Huntingdon, as he thought would suit him. Though this 
was farther from Cambridge, where his brother then re- 
sided, than he wished, yet, as he was now in perfect health, 
and as his circumstances required a less expensive way of 
life than his present, he resolved to take them, and arranged 
his affairs accordingly. 

On the 17th June, 1765, having spent more than eigh- 
teen months at St. Albans, partly in the bondage of des- 
pair, and partly in the liberty of the gospel, he took leave 
of the place, at four in the morning, and set out for Cam- 
bridge, taking with him the servant who had attended him 
while he remained with Dr. Cotton, and who had main- 
tained an affectionate watchfulness over him during the 
whole of his illness, waiting upon him, on all occasions, 
with the greatest patience, and invariably treating him 
with the greatest kindness. The mingled emotions of his 
mind on leaving the place were painful and pleasing : he 
regarded it as the place of his second nativity: he had 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 43 

here passed from death unto life — had been favoured with 
much leisure to study the word of God — had enjoyed 
much happiness in conversing upon its great truths with 
his esteemed physician ; and he left it with considerable 
reluctance ; offering up many prayers to God, that his 
richest blessings might rest upon its worthy manager, and 
upon all its inmates. 

The state of his mind on this occasion he thus affection- 
ately describes : — " I remembered the pollution which is in* 
the world, and the sad share I had in it myself, and my \ 
heart ached at the thought of entering it again. The 
blessed God had endowed me with some concern forhisglory, 
and I was fearful of hearing his name traduced by oaths 
and blasphemies, the common language of this highly-fa- 
voured but ungrateful country ; but the promise of God, 
i Fear not, I am with thee,' was my comfort. I passed the 
whole of my journey in fervent prayer to God, earnestly 
but silently intreating Him to be my guardian and coun- 
sellor in all my future journey through life, and to bring 
me in safety, when he had accomplished his purposes of 
grace and mercy towards me, to eternal glory." 



■ 



44 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Removal to Huntingdon — Sensations there — Engages in public wor- 
ship for the first time after his recovery — Delight it afforded him 

— Commences a regular correspondence with some of his friends 

— Pleasure he experienced in writing on religious subjects — 
Anxiety of his mind for the spiritual welfare of his former asso- 
ciates — Attributes their continuance in sin chiefly to infidelity — 
Folly of this — Beauty of the Scriptures — Absurdity of attributing 
events to second causes, instead of to the overruling providence of 
God — Dependence upon Divine direction the best support in afflic- 
tion — Forms some new connections — Becomes acquainted with the 
Unwin family — Happiness he experienced in their company. 

After spending a few days with his brother at Cambridge, 
Cowper repaired to Huntingdon, and entered upon his new 
abode, on Saturday, the 22nd of June, 1765 ; taking with 
him the servant he had brought from St. Albans, to whom 
he had become strongly attached for the great kindness he 
had shown him in his affliction. His brother, who had ac- 
companied him thither, had no sooner left him, than, finding 
himself alone, surrounded by strangers, in a strange place, 
his spirits began to sink, and he felt like a traveller in the 
midst of an inhospitable desert ; without a friend to com- 
fort, or a guide to direct him. He walked forth, towards 
the close of the day, in this melancholy frame of mind, 
and having wandered about a mile from the town, he 
found his heart so powerfully drawn towards the Lord, 
that on gaining a secret and retired nook in the corner of 
a field, he kneeled down under a bank, and poured out his 
complaints unto God. It pleased his merciful Father to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. 45 

hear him ; the load was removed from his mind, and he 
was enabled to trust in Him that careth for the stranger ; 
to roll his burden upon Him, and to rest assured, that 
wherever God might cast his lot, he would still be his 
guardian and shield. 

The following day he went to church, for the first time 
after his recovery. Throughout the whole of the service, 
his emotions were so powerfully affecting, that it was with 
much difficulty he could restrain them, so much did he see 
of the beauty and glory of the Lord while thus worship- 
ping Him in his temple. His heart was full of love to all 
the congregation, especially to such as seemed serious and 
attentive. Such was the goodness of God to him, that 
he gave him the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment 
of praise for the spirit of heaviness ; and, though he joined 
not with the congregation in singing the praises of his God, 
being prevented by the intenseness of his feelings, yet his soul 
sung within him, and leaped for joy. The parable of the pro- 
digal son was the portion of scripture read in the gospel 
appointed for the day. He saw himself in that glass so 
clearly, and the loving kindness of his slighted and for- 
gotten Lord, that the whole scene was realized by him, 
and acted over in his heart. And he thus describes his 
feelings on hearing it : — " When the gospel for the day 
was read, it seemed more than I could well support. Oh, 
what a word is the word of God, when the spirit quickens 
us to receive it, and gives the hearing ear, and the under- 
standing heart ! The harmony of heaven is in it, and dis- 
covers clearly and satisfactorily its author." 

Immediately after church he repaired to the place where 
he had prayed the day before, and found the relief he had 
there received was but the earnest of a richer blessino-. 
The Lord was pleased to visit him with his gracious pre- 
sence ; he seemed to speak to him face to face, as a man 



46 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

speaketh to his friend ; He made all His goodness pass 
before him, and constrained him to say, with Jacob, not 
" how dreadful/' but " how lovely is this place ! This is 
the house of God, and the gate of heaven." 

He remained four months in the lodgings procured for 
him by his brother, secluded from the bustling and active 
scenes of life, and receiving only an occasional visit from 
some of his neighbours. Though he had little intercourse 
with men, yet he enjoyed much fellowship with God in 
Christ Jesus. Living by faith, and thus tasting the joys 
of the unseen world, his solitude was sweet, his meditations 
were delightful, and he wanted no other enjoyments. He 
now regularly corresponded with all his intimate friends, 
and his letters furnish the clearest proofs of the happy, 
and indeed, almost enviable state of his mind, during this 
period. To Lady Hesketh, in a letter dated July 5, 1765, 
he thus discloses his feelings : — "I should have written to 
you from St. Albans long ago, but was willing to perform 
quarantine, as well for my own sake, as because I thought 
my letters would be more satisfactory to you from any 
other quarter. You will perceive I allowed myself a suffi- 
cient time for the purpose, for I date my recovery from the 
latter end of last July, haying been ill seven, and well 
/twelve months. About that time, my brother came to see 
/ me ; I was far from well when he arrived, yet, though he 
only remained one day, his company served to put to flight 
a thousand deliriums and delusions which I still laboured 
under." 

u As far as I am acquainted with my new residence, I 
like it extremely. Mr. Hodgson, the minister of the parish, 
made me a visit yesterday. He is very sensible, a good 
preacher, and conscientious in the discharge of his duty : 
he is well known to Dr. Newton, Bishop of Bristol, the 
author of the treatise on the Prophecies, the most demon- 



\ 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 47 

strati ve proof of the truth of Christianity, in my mind, 
that was ever published." 

In another letter, a few days afterwards, to the same 
lady, he thus writes; — " Mentioning Newton's treatise on 
the Prophecies brings to my mind an anecdote of Dr. 
Young, who you know died lately at Welwyn. Dr. Cot- 
ton, who was intimate with him, paid him a visit about a 
fortnight before he was seized with his last illness. The 
old man was then in perfect health ; the antiquity of his 
person, the gravity of his utterance, and the earnestness 
with which he discoursed about religion, gave him, in the 
doctor's eye, the appearance of a prophet. They had been 
delivering their sentiments on Newton's treatise, when 
Young closed the conference thus — i 'My friend, there are 
two considerations upon which my faith in Christ is built 
as upon a rock: first, the fall of man, the redemption of 
man, and the resurrection of man ; these three cardinal 
articles of our holy religion are such as human ingenuity 
could never have invented, therefore they must be divine : 
the other is the fulfilment of prophecy, of which there is 
abundant demonstration. This proves that the scripture 
must be the word of God, and if so, Christianity must be 
true." 

Cowper now lived in the full enjoyment of religion. Its 
truths supported his mind, and furnished him with an 
ample field for meditation ; its promises consoled him, freed 
him from every distressing sensation, and filled him with 
joy unspeakable and full of glory; its duties regulated all 
his conduct, and his chief anxiety was to live entirely to 
the glory of God. The following beautiful lines of the poet 
are strikingly descriptive of his feelings at this period : — 

" I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 
Long since ; with many an arrow deep enfix'd 
My panting sides was charged, when I withdrew 
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 



48 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. 

There was T found by one who had himself 
Been hurt by th' archers : in his sides he bore, 
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
With gentle force soliciting the darts, 
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live. 
Since then, with few associates, in remote 
And silent woods I wander, far from those 
'My former partners of the peopled scene; 
With few associates, and not wishing more, 
Here much I ruminate, as much I may, 
With other views of men and manners now 
Than once; and others of a life to come." 

On all affairs connected with religion, Cowper now de- 
lighted to think and to converse, and his best letters were 
those in which he could freely introduce them to his cor- 
respondents. In the close of the letter from which we 
made the above extract, he thus writes : — u My dear 
cousin, how happy am I in having a friend to whom I can 
open my heart upon these subjects ! I have many inti- 
mates in the world, and have had many more than I shall 
have hereafter, to whom a long letter upon those most im- 
portant articles would appear tiresome at least, if not im- 
pertinent. But I am not afraid of meeting with that 
reception from you, who have never yet made it your inte- 
rest that there should be no truth in the word of God. 
May this everlasting truth be your comfort while you live, 
and attend you with peace and joy in your last moments. 
I love you too well not to make this a part of my prayers ; 
and when I remember my friends on these occasions, there 
is no likelihood that you can be forgotten." 

In another letter to Lady Hesketh, dated 1st of August, 

/ 1765, he thus adverts to the character of his former asso- 

/ ciates, and feelingly expresses his anxiety for their spiritual 

welfare : — "I have great reason to be thankful I have lost 

\ none of my acquaintance but those whom I determined 

not to keep : I am sorry this class is so numerous. What 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 49 

would I not give, that every friend I have in the world 
were not almost, but altogether Christians. My dear 
cousin, I am half afraid to talk to you in this style, lest I 
should seem to indulge a censorious humour, instead of 
hoping, as I ought, the best of all men. But what can be 
said against ocular proof, and what is hope when built 
upon presumption ? To use the most holy name in the 
universe for no purpose, or a bad one, contrary to his own 
express commandment, to pass the day and the succeeding 
days, weeks, and months, and years, without one act of 
private devotion, one confession of our sins, or one thanks- 
giving for the numberless blessings we enjoy ; to hear the 
word of God in public with a distracted attention, or with 
none at all ; to absent ourselves voluntarily from the blessed 
communion, and to live in the total neglect of it, are the 
common and ordinary liberties, which the generality of 
professors allow themselves : and what is this, but to live 
without God in the world. Many causes might be as- 
signed for this anti-christian spirit so prevalent among 
professors, but one of the principal I take to be their utter 
forgetfulness, that the Bible which they have in their pos- 
session, is, in reality, the Word of God. My friend, Sir 
William Russell, was distantly related to a very accom- 
plished man, who, though he never believed the gospel, 
admired the scriptures as the sublimest compositions in the 
world, and read them often. I have myself been intimate 
with a man of fine taste,whohas confessed to me, that though 
he could not subscribe to the truth of Christianity itself, 
yet he never could read St. Luke's account of our Saviour's 
appearance to his two disciples going to Emmaus, without 
being wonderfully affected by it : and he thought, that if 
the stamp of Divinity was anywhere to be found in scrip- 
ture, it was strongly marked and visibly impressed upon 
that passage. If these men, whose hearts were chilled 

E 



50 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER 

with the darkness of infidelity, could find such charms in 
the mere style of scripture, what must those find whose 
eyes could penetrate deeper than the letter, and who firmly 
believed themselves interested in all the invaluable privi- 
leges of the gospel ? Had this mere man of taste searched 
a little further, he might have found other parts of the 
sacred history as strongly marked with the characters of 
Divinity as that he mentioned. The parable of the prodigal 
son, the most beautiful fiction that ever was invented ; our 
Saviour's speech to his disciples, with which he closes his 
earthly ministration, full of the sublimest dignity and ten- 
derest affection, surpass every thing that I ever read, and, 
like the spirit with which they were dictated, fly directly 
to the heart. If the scripture did not disdain all affecta- 
tion of ornament, one should call such as these its orna- 
mental parts ; but the matter of it is that upon which it 
principally stakes its credit with us, and the style, however 
excellent, is only one of the many external evidences by 
which it recommends itself to our belief." 

The warmest expressions of his gratitude to God for his 
distinguishing goodness to him, during his affliction, 
were frequently employed in his letters. In one, dated 
4th September, 1765, he thus writes to his cousin: — 
" Two of my friends have been cut off during my ill- 
ness, in the midst of such a life as it is frightful to 
reflect upon, and here am I, in better health and spirits, 
than I can ever remember to have enjoyed, after hav- 
ing spent months in the apprehension of instant death. 
How mysterious are the ways of Providence ! Why did I 
receive grace and mercy ? Why was I preserved, afflicted 
for my good, received, as I trust, into favor, and blessed 
with the greatest happiness I can ever know, or hope for 
in this life, while these were overtaken by the great arrest, 
unawakened, unrepenting, and every way unprepared for 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 51 

it ? His infinite wisdom, to whose infinite mercy I owe it 
all, can solve these questions, and none else. A freethinker, 
as many a man miscals himself, would, without doubt, say, 
' Sir, you were in great danger, and had, indeed, a most 
fortunate escape.' How excessively foolish, as well as 
shocking, is such language ! As if life depended upon 
luck, and all that we are, or can be, all that we have now, 
or can hope for hereafter, could possibly be referred to 
accident. To this freedom of thought it is owing, that he, 
who is thoroughly apprized of the death of the meanest of 
his creatures, is supposed to leave those whom he has made 
in his own image, to the mercy of chance ; and to this it is 
likewise owing, that the correction which our Heavenly 
Father bestows upon us, that we may be fitted to receive 
his blessing, is so often disappointed of its benevolent in- 
tention. Fevers, and all diseases, are regarded as acci- 
dents ; and long life, health, and recovery from sickness, 
as the gift of the physician. No man can be a greater friend 
to the use of means upon these occasions than myself; for 
it were presumption and enthusiasm to neglect them. God 
has endued them with salutary properties on purpose that 
we might avail ourselves of them. But to impute our re- 
covery to the medicine, and to carry our views no further, 
is to rob God of his honour. He that thinks thus, may as 
well fall upon his knees at once, and return thanks to the 
medicine that cured him, for it was certainly more imme- 
diately instrumental in his recovery than either the apo- 
thecary or the doctor." 

No one ever watched more carefully the providence of\ 
God than Cowper. His views of it were just and scrip- J 
tural, as is abundantly evident by the above remarks, and, 
if possible, more clearly evinced by the following extracts 
from the same excellent letter : — " My dear cousin, a firm 
persuasion of the superintendence of Providence over all 

e2 



52 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



our concerns, is absolutely necessary to our happiness. 
Without it we cannot be said to believe in the Scripture, 
or practise any thing like resignation to his will. If I am 
convinced that no affliction can befall me without the per- 
mission of God, I am convinced likewise that he sees, and 
knows, that I am afflicted ; believing this, I must, in the 
same degree, believe that, if I pray to him for deliverance, 
he hears me ; I must needs know likewise, with equal as- 
surance, that if he hears, he will also deliver me, should this 
be most conducive to my happiness ; and if he does not 
deliver me, I may rest well assured that he has none but 
the most benevolent intention in declining it. He made 
us, not because we could add to his happiness, which was 
falways perfect, but that we might be happy ourselves; and 
will he not in all his dispensations towards us, even in the 
minutest, consult that end for which he made us? To 
suppose the contrary, is to affront every one of his attri- 
butes, and to renounce utterly our dependence upon him. 
In this view it will appear plainly, that the line of duty is 
not stretched too tight, when we are told that we ought to 
accept every thing at his hands as a blessing, and to be 
thankful even when we smart under the rod of iron with 
which he sometimes rules us. Without this persuasion, 
every blessing, however we may think ourselves happy in 
the possession of it, loses its greatest recommendation, and 
every affliction is intolerable. Death itself must be wel- 
come to him who has this faith ; and he who has it not 
must aim at it, if he is not a madman." The excellence of 
these extracts from Cowper's correspondence will, it is 
hoped, be admitted by every reader as a sufficient apology 
for the interruption they may occasion to our narrative' 
They might be greatly enlarged ; but it is not intended to 
admit any, except such as will, in some degree at least, 
serve to describe his character. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 53 

It was not to be expected that a person like Cowper 
could remain long unnoticed, how reserved soever was his 
conduct. Accordingly, he had been at Huntingdon only a 
short time before he was visited by several persons, and 
introduced into several families, all eminently distinguished 
for their respectability, and general consistency of conduct. 
This soon endeared him to the place, and he thus commu- 
nicated his sentiments respecting it to his correspondents : 
— "The longer I live here the better I like the place, and 
the people who belong to it. I am upon very good terms 
with five families, all of whom receive me with the utmost 
cordiality. You may recollect that I had but very uncom- 
fortable expectations of the accommodations I should meet 
with at Huntingdon. How much better is it to take our lot, 
where it shall please Providence to cast it, without anxiety ! 
Had I chosen for myself, it is impossible I could have fixed 
upon a place so agreeable to me in all respects. I so much 
dreaded the thought of having a new acquaintance to make, 
with no other recommendation than that of being a perfect 
stranger, that I heartily wished no creature here might 
take the least notice of me. Instead of which, in about 
two months after my arrival I became known to all the 
visitable people here, and do verily think it the most agree- 
able neighbourhood I ever saw. My brother and I meet 
every week by an alternate reciprocation of intercourse, as 
Sam Johnson would express it. As to my own personal 
condition, I am much happier than the day is long ; and 
sunshine and candle-light alike, see me perfectly contented. 
I get books in abundance, as much company as I choose, 
a deal of comfortable leisure, and enjoy better health, I 
think, than for many years past. What is there wanting 
to make me happy ? Nothing, if I can but be as thankful 
as I ought; and I trust that He, who has bestowed so 
many blessings on me, will give me gratitude to crown 



54 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

thein all. I thank God for all the pleasing circumstances 
here, for my health of body, and perfect serenity of mind. 
To recollect the past, and compare it with the present, is 
all that I need to fill me with gratitude ; and to be grateful 
is to be happy. 1 am far from thinking myself sufficiently 
grateful, or from indulging the hope that I shall ever be so 
in the present life. The warmest heart, perhaps, only feels 
by fits, and is often as insensible as the coldest. This, at 
least, is frequently the case with mine, and much oftener 
than it should be." 

Among the families with whom Cowper was on terms of 
intimacy,, there were none so entirely congenial to his taste 
as that of the Reverend Mr. Unwin. This worthy divine, 
who was now far advanced in years, had formerly been 
master of a free school in Huntingdon. On obtaining, 
however, from his college at Cambridge, the living of 
Grimston, he married Miss Cawthorne, the daughter of a 
very respectable draper in Ely, by whom he had two 
children, a son and a daughter. Disliking their residence 
at Grimston, they removed to Huntingdon, where they had 
now resided many years. 

Cowper became acquainted with this interesting family, 
which was afterwards, almost to the close of his life, a 
source of comfort to him, in the following rather singular 
manner. The Unwins frequently noticed Mr. C. and re- 
marked the degree of piety and intelligence he seemed to 
possess ; this induced them to wish for a further acquaint- 
ance with the interesting stranger : his manners, however, 
were so reserved, that an introduction to him seemed wholly 
out of their reach. After waiting some time, with no ap- 
parent prospect of success, their eldest son, Mr. W. Unwin, 
though dissuaded from it by his mother, lest it should be 
thought too intrusive, ventured to speak to Mr. Cowper 
one day, when they were coming out of church, after 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 55 

morning prayers, and to engage himself to take tea with 
Mr. C. that afternoon. This was perfectly agreeable to 
Cowper, who, in one of his letters some time afterwards, 
thus describes his new-made acquaintance : — "To my in- 
expressible joy, I found him one, whose notions of religion 
were spiritual and lively; one, whom the Lord had been 
training up from his infancy for the temple. We opened 
our hearts to each other at the first interview ; and when 
he parted, I immediately retired to my chamber, and 
prayed the Lord, who had been the author, to be the guar- 
dian of our friendship, and to grant to it fervency and per- 
petuity, even unto death • and I doubt not that my gra- 
cious Father heard this prayer." A friendship thus formed 
was not likely to be soon interrupted ; accordingly it con- 
tinued with unabated affection through life, and became 
to both parties a source of much real enjoyment. Well 
would it be for Christians, were they, in making choice of 
their friends, to follow the example of Cowper ! Entering 
upon it by earnest prayer to God for his blessing, they 
might then hope to derive all those invaluable benefits 
from it, which it is adapted and designed to convey. 

The following sabbath Cowper dined with the Un- 
win's, and was treated with so much cordiality and real 
affection, that he ever after felt the warmest attachment to 
this interesting family. In his letters on the subject he 
thus writes : — u The last acquaintance I have made here is 
of the race of the Unwins, consisting of father and mother, 
son and daughter; they are the most agreeable people 
imaginable ; quite sociable, and as free from the ceremo- 
nious civility of country gentlefolks as I ever met with. 
They treat me more like a near relation than a stranger, 
and their house is always open to me. The old gentleman 
carries me to Cambridge in his chaise,* he is a man of 
learning and good sense, and as simple* as parson Adams. 



56 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

His wife has a very uncommon understanding, has read 
much to excellent purpose, and is more polite than a 
duchess ; she treats me with an affection so truly Christian, 
that I could almost fancy my own mother restored to life 
again, to compensate me for all my lost friends, and broken 
connections. She has a son, in all respects, worthy of such 
a mother, the most amiable young man I ever knew ; he is 
not yet arrived at that time of life when suspicion recom- 
mends itself to us in the form of wisdom, and sets every 
thing but our own dear selves at an immeasurable distance 
from our esteem and confidence. Consequently he is known 
almost as soon as seen ; and having nothing in his heart 
that makes it necessary for him to keep it barred and 
bolted, opens it to the perusal even of a stranger. His na- 
tural and acquired endowments are very considerable, and 
as to his virtues, I need only say that he is a Christian. 
Miss Unwin resembles her mother in her great piety, who 
is one of the most remarkable instances of it I ever knew. 
They are altogether the 1 most cheerful and engaging family 
it is possible to conceive. They see but little company, 
which suits me exactly ; go when I will, I find a house full 
of peace and cordiality in all its parts, and am sure to hear 
no scandal, but such discourse instead of it as we are all 
the better for. Now I know them, I wonder that I liked 
Huntingdon so well before, and am apt to think I should 
find every place disagreeable that had not an Unwin be- 
longing to it." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 57 



CHAPTER V. 

Cowper becomes an inmate with Mr. Unwinds family — Is much de- 
lighted with their society — Describes the manner in which they 
spent their time — His opinion respecting the knowledge which 
Christians will have of each other in heaven — What will engage 
their thoughts there — Just views of Christian friendship — Strength 
of his religious affections — Humbling views of himself — Melan- 
choly death of Mr. L T nwin — Cowper's reflections upon it — Mr. 
Newton's unexpected but providential visit to Mrs. Unwin — Cow- 
per's determination to remain with the family — Their removal 
from Huntingdon to Olney. 

Towards the end of October, 1765, Cowper began to fear 
that his solitary and lonely situation, would not be agree- 
able to him during the winter ; and rinding his present me- 
thod of living, though he was strictly economical, rather too 
expensive for his limited income, he judged it expedient to 
look out for a family, with which he might become an 
inmate, where he might enjoy the advantage of social and 
familiar intercourse, and be subject to a less expensive 
establishment. It providentially occurred to him, that he 
might probably be admitted, on such terms, into Mr. Unwind 
family. He knew that a young gentleman, who had lived 
with them as a pupil, had just left them for Cambridge, 
and it appeared not improbable, that he might be allowed 
to succeed him, not as a pupil, but as an inmate. This 
subject occasioned him a tumult of anxious solicitude, and 
for some days, he could not possibly divert his attention 
from it. He at length, made it the subject of earnest prayer 
to his Heavenly Father, that he would be pleased to bring 



58 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

this affair to such an issue, as would be most calculated to 
promote his own glory; and he had the satisfaction, in a 
short time, to receive a gracious answer to his petitions. 
A few days afterwards he mentioned the subject to Mrs. 
Unwin, a satisfactory arrangement was very speedily made 
with the family, and he entered upon his new abode, the 
eleventh of November, 1765. 

The manner in which he spent his time while associated 
with this exemplary family, and the high degree of enjoy- 
ment he there experienced, will be seen by the following 
extracts from his correspondence with his two amiable 
cousins, Lady Hesketh and Mrs. Cowper. To the former 
he thus writes : — 

" My dear Cousin, — The frequency of your letters to me, 
while I lived alone, was occasioned, I am sure, by your re- 
gard for my welfare, and was an act of particular charity. 
I bless God, however, that I was happy even then ; soli- 
tude has nothing gloomy in it, if the soul points upwards. 
St. Paul tells his Hebrew converts, ' Ye are come,' (al- 
ready come) ' to Mount Sion, to an innumerable company 
of angels, to the general assembly of the first born, which 
are written in heaven, and to Jesus the Mediator of the new 
covenant/ When this is the case, as surely it was with 
them, or the Spirit of truth would never have spoken it, 
there is an end to the melancholy and dulness of life at 
once. You will not suspect me, my dear cousin, of a de- 
sign to understand this passage literally ; but this, how- 
ever, it certainly means, that a lively faith is able to anti- 
cipate, in some measure, the joys of that heavenly society 
which the soul shall actually possess hereafter. 

u Since I have changed my situation, I have found still 
greater cause of thanksgiving to the Father of all mercies. 
The family with whom I live are Christians, and it has 
pleased the Almighty to bring me to the knowledge of 
them, that I may want no means of improvement in that 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 59 

temper and conduct which he requires of all his servants. 
My dear cousin ! one-half of the Christian world would 
call this madness, fanaticism, and folly ; but are not these 
things warranted by the word of God. If we have no com- 
munion with God here, surely we can expect none here- 
after. A faith that does not place our conversation in 
heaven ; that does not warm the heart, and purify it too ; 
that does not, in short, govern our thoughts, words, and 
deeds, is not Christian faith, nor can we procure by it any 
spiritual blessing, here or hereafter. Let us therefore see 
that we do not deceive ourselves in a matter of such infinite 
moment. The world will be ever telling us that we are good 
enough, and the world will vilify us behind our backs : 
but it is not the world which tries the heart — that is the 
prerogative of God alone. My dear cousin ! I have often 
prayed for you behind your back, and now I pray for you 
to your face. There are many who would not forgive me 
this wrong, but I have known you so long, and so well, 
that I am not afraid of telling you how sincerely I wish 
for your growth in every Christian grace, in every thing 
that may promote and secure your everlasting welfare." 

To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus writes : — "I am 
obliged to you for the interest you take in my welfare, and 
for your inquiring so particularly after the manner in which 
my time passes here. As to amusements — I mean what 
the world calls such — we have none; the place, indeed, 
swarms with them, and cards and dancing are the professed 
business of almost all the gentle inhabitants of Huntingdon. 
We refuse to take part in them, or to be accessaries to this 
way of murdering our time, and by so doing have acquired 
the name of Methodists. Having told you how we do not 
spend our time, I will next say how we do. We breakfast 
commonly between eight and nine; till eleven, we read 
either the scripture or the sermons of some faithful preacher ; 
at eleven, we attend divine service, which is performed here 



60 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

every day; and from twelve to three, we separate, and 
amuse ourselves as we please. During that interval, I read 
in my own apartment, or walk, or ride, or work in the gar- 
den. We seldom sit an hour after dinner, but if the wea- 
ther permits, adjourn into the garden, where, with Mrs. 
Unwin and her son, I have generally the pleasure of reli- 
gious conversation till tea-time. If it rains, or is too windy 
for walking, we either converse within doors, or sing some 
hymns of Martin's collection, and by the help of Mrs. 
Unwinds harpsichord, make up a tolerable concert, in 
which our hearts are the best and the most musical per- 
formers. After tea, we sally forth to take a walk in good 
earnest, and we have generally travelled four miles before 
we see home again. At night, we read and converse till 
supper, and commonly finish the evening either with 
hymns, or with a sermon ; and, last of all, the family are 
called to prayers. I need not tell you that such a life as 
this is consistent with the utmost cheerfulness; accord- 
ingly, we are all happy, and dwell together in unity as 
brethren. Mrs. Unwin has almost a maternal affection for 
me, and I have something very like a filial one for her, and 
her son and I are brothers. Blessed be the God of our 
salvation for such companions, and for such a life ; above 
all, for a heart to relish it/' 

It was during his residence with this family, while they 
resided at Huntingdon, that he wrote some of those excel- 
lent letters to Mrs. Cowper, with extracts from which it is 
our intention to enrich this part of his memoirs. Speaking 
of the knowledge which Christians will have of each other 
hereafter, he remarks — " Reason is able to form many 
plausible conjectures concerning the possibility of our 
knowing each other in a future state ; and the scripture 
has, here and there, favoured us with an expression thatlooks 
at least like a slight intimation of it ; but because a con- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 61 

jecture can never amount to a proof, and a slight intima- 
tion cannot be construed into a positive assertion, therefore 
I think we can never come to any absolute conclusion 
upon the subject. We may, indeed, reason about the 
plausibility of our conjectures, and we may discuss, with 
great industry and shrewdness of argument, those passages 
in the scripture which seem to favour this opinion ; but 
still no certain means having been afforded us, no certain 
end can be attained ; and after all that can be said, it 
will still be doubtful whether we shall know each other 
or not. Both reason and scripture, however, furnish us 
with a great number of arguments on the affirmative 
side. In the parable of Dives and Lazarus, Dives is 
represented as knowing Lazarus, and Abraham as knowing 
them both, and the discourse between them is entirely con- 
cerning their respective characters and circumstances upon 
earth. Here, therefore, our Saviour seems to countenance 
the notion of a mutual knowledge and recollection ■ and if 
a soul that has perished shall know a soul that is saved, surely 
the heirs of salvation shall know and recollect each other. 

11 Paul, in the first epistle to the Thessalonians, encourages 
the faithful and laborious minister of Christ to expect that 
a knowledge of those who had been converted by their in- 
strumentality would contribute greatly to augment their 
felicity in a future state, when each minister should appear 
before the throne of God, saying, ( Here am I, with the 
children thou hast given me.' This seems to imply, that 
the apostle should know the converts, and the converts the 
apostle, at least at the day of judgment, and if then, why 
not afterwards ? 

In another letter, the following excellent remarks occur 
respecting what will engage our thoughts and form part of 
our communications in heaven : — "The common and ordi- 
nary occurrences of life, no doubt, and even the ties of 



62 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

kindred, and of all temporal interests, will be entirely dis- 
carded from that happy society, and possibly even the re- 
membrance of them done away : but it does not therefore 
follow that our spiritual concerns, even in this life, will be 
forgotten, neither do I think that they can ever appear 
trifling to us, in any the most distant period of eternity. 
God will then be all in all ; our whole nature, the soul, and 
all its faculties, will be employed in praising and adoring 
him; and if so, will it not furnish us with a theme of 
thanksgiving, to recollect 'The rock whence we were 
hewn, and the hole of the pit whence \ve were digged?' 
— To recollect the time when our faith, which, under the 
tuition and nurture of the Holy Spirit, has produced such 
a plentiful harvest of immortal bliss, was as a grain of 
mustard-seed, small in itself, promising but little fruit, and 
producing less ? — to recollect the various attempts that 
were made upon it by the world, the flesh, and the devil* 
and its various triumphs over all, by the assistance of 
God, through our Lord Jesus Christ ? At present, whatever 
our convictions may be of the sinfulness and corruptions 
of our nature, we can make but a very imperfect estimate 
either of our weakness or our guilt. Then, no doubt, we 
shall understand the full value of the wonderful salvation 
wrought out for us by our exalted Redeemer ; and it seems 
reasonable to suppose, that in order to form a just idea of 
our redemption, we shall be able to form a just one of the 
danger we have escaped ; when we know how weak and 
frail we were, we shall be more able to render due praise 
and honour to his strength who fought for us ; when we 
know completely the hatefulness of sin in the sight of God, 
and how deeply we were tainted by it, we shall know 
how to value the blood by which we were cleansed as we 
ought." 

In the following letter to the same lady, he says : — "I 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. @3 

am not sorry that what I have said concerning our know- 
ledge of each other, in a future state, has a little inclined 
you to the affirmative. For though the redeemed of the 
Lord will be sure of being as happy in that state, as infi- 
nite power, employed by infinite goodness, can make them, 
and therefore, it may seem immaterial, whether we shall, or 
shall not, recollect each other hereafter ; yet, our present 
happiness, at least, is a little interested in the question. A 
parent, a friend, a wife, must needs, I think, feel a little 
heart-ache at the thought of an eternal separation from the 
objects of her regard : and not to know them when she 
meets them in another state, or never to meet them at all, 
amounts, though not altogether, yet nearly to the same, 
thing. Remember and recognize them, I have no doubt s 
we shall ; and to believe that they are happy will, indeed, 
be no small addition to our own felicity ; but to see them so^ 
will surely be a greater. Thus, at least, it appears to our 
present human apprehension; consequently, therefore, to 
think, that when we leave them, we lose them for ever, and 
must remain eternally ignorant, whether those, who were 
flesh of our flesh, and bone of our bone, partake with us 
of celestial glory, or are disinherited of their heavenly por- 
tion, must shed a dismal gloom over all our present con- 
nexions. For my own part, this life is such a momentary 
thing, and all its interests have so shrunk in my estimation, 
since, by the grace of our Lord Jesus, I became attentive 
to the things of another ; that, like a worm in the bud of 
all my friendships and affections, this very thought would 
eat out the heart of them all, had I a thousand ; and were 
their date to terminate in this life, I think I should have no 
inclination to cultivate, and improve, such a fugitive busi- 
ness. Yet friendship is necessary to our happiness here, 
and built upon Christian principles, upon which only it 
can stand, is a thing even of religious sanction — for what 



64 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 

is that love, which the Holy Spirit speaking by St. John, 
so much inculcates, but friendship ? The only love which 
deserves the name, is a love which can enable the Chris- 
tian to toil, and watch, and deny himself, and risk, even 

, exposure to death, for his brother. Worldly friendships 
are a poor weed compared with this ; and even this union 

\ of the spirit in the bond of peace, would suffer, in my mind 
at least, could I think it were only coeval with our earthly 
mansions. It may possibly argue great weakness in me, 
in this instance, to stand so much in need of future hopes, 
to support me in the discharge of present duty, but so it is. 
I am far, I know, very far, from being perfect in Chris- 
tian love, or any other divine attainment, and am, there- 
fore, unwilling to forego, whatever may help me on my 
progress." 

The anxiety of his mind respecting religion, and the pro- 
gress he had made, and was still making in it, will appear 
from the following extract. " You are so kind as to enquire 
after my health, for which reason I must tell you what other- 
wise would not be worth mentioning, that I have lately 
been just enough indisposed to convince me, that not only 
human life in general, but mine in particular, hangs by a 
slender thread. I am stout enough in appearance, yet a 
little illness demolishes me. I have had a serious shake, 
and the building is not so firm as it was. But I bless God 
for it, with all my heart. If the inner man be but strength- 
ened day by day, as I hope, under the renewing influences 
of the Holy Spirit, it will be, no matter how soon the out- 
ward is dissolved. He who has, in a manner, raised me 
from the dead, in a literal sense, has given me the grace, 
I trust, to be ready, at the shortest notice, to surrender up 
to him that life, which I have twice received from him. 
Whither I live or die, I desire it may be to his glory, and 
then it must be to my happiness. I thank God, that I have 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 65 

those amongst my kindred, to whom I can write, without 
reserve, my sentiments on this subject. A letter upon any 
other subject, is more insipid to me than ever my task was? 
when a school-boy. I say not this in vain glory, God for- 
bid ! but to shew what the Almighty, whose name I am 
unworthy to mention, has done for me, the chief of sinners. 
Once he was a terror to me ; and his service, oh, what a 
weariness it was ! Now I can say, I love him, and his 
Holy name, and am never so happy as when I speak of his 
mercies to me." 

To the same correspondent he again writes. " To find 
those whom I love, clearly and strongly persuaded of evan- 
gelical truth, gives me a pleasure superior to any this 
world can afford. Judge then, whether your letter, in 
which the body and substance of saving faith is so evidently 
set forth, could meet with a lukewarm reception at my- 
hands, or be entertained with indifference ! Do not imagine 
that I shall ever hear from you upon this delightful theme, 
without real joy, or without prayer to God to prosper you in 
the way of his truth. The book you mention, lies now 
upon my table ; Marshall is an old acquaintance of mine ; 
I have both read him, and heard him read with pleasure 
and edification. The doctrines he maintains are, under the 
influence of the spirit of Christ, the very life of my soul, 
and the soul of all my happiness. That Jesus is a present 
Saviour from the guilt of sin, by his most precious blood, 
and from the power of it by his Spirit ; that, corrupt and 
wretched in ourselves, in Him, and in Him only, we are com- 
plete ; that being united to Jesus by a lively faith, we have 
a solid and eternal interest, in his obedience and sufferings, 
to justify us before the face of our Heavenly Father ; and 
that all this inestimable treasure, the earnest of which is 
in grace, and its consummation in glory, is given, freely 
given to us by God ; in short, that he hath freely opened 



66 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

the kingdom of Heaven to all believers; are truths which 
cannot be disproved, though they have been disputed. 
These are the truths, which, by the grace of God, shall 
ever be dearer to me than life itself; shall ever be placed 
next my heart, as the throne, whereon the Saviour himself 
shall sit, to sway all its motions, and reduce that world of 
iniquity and rebellion to a state of filial and affectionate 
obedience to the will of the most Holy." 

u These, my dear Cousin, are the truths to which, by 
nature, we are enemies ; they debase the sinner, and exalt 
the Saviour, to a degree, which the pride of our hearts? 
while unsubdued by grace, is determined never to allow. 
May the Almighty reveal his Son in our hearts, continually 
more and more, and teach us ever to increase in love to- 
wards him for having given us the unspeakable riches of 
Christ." 

In the following letter to the same lady he again writes : 
—" I think Marshall one of the best writers, and the most 
spiritual expositors of Scripture I ever read. I admire the 
strength of his argument, and the clearness of his reason- 
ings, upon those points of our most holy religion which 
are generally least understood (even by real Christians) as 
master-pieces of the kind. His section upon the union of 
the soul with Christ is an instance of what I mean ; in 
which he has spoken of a most mysterious truth, with ad- 
mirable perspicuity, and with great good sense, making it 
all the while subservient to his main purport, of proving 
holiness to be the fruit and effect of faith. I never met 
with an author who understood the plan of salvation better, 
or was more happy in explaining it." 

That Cowper inspected very closely, and watched very 
narrowly his own heart, will appear by the following extract 
from a letter to the same lady: — " Oh pride! pride! it 
deceives with the subtlety of a serpent, and seems to walk 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 67 

erect, though it crawls upon the earth. How will it twist 
and twine itself about to get from under the cross, which it 
is the glory of our Christian calling to be able to bear with 
patience and good will. Those who can guess at the heart 
of a stranger, and you especially, who are of a compas- 
sionate temper, will be more ready to excuse me than I can 
be to excuse myself. But, in good truth, I am too fre- 
quently guilty of the abominable vice. How should such 
a creature be admitted into those pure and sinless man- 
sions where nothing shall enter that defileth ; did not the 
blood of Christ, applied by faith, take away the guilt of 
sin, and leave no spot or stain behind it ! O what conti- 
nual need have I of an almighty, all-sufficient Saviour ! I 
am glad you are acquainted so •particularly with all the cir- 
cumstances of my story, for I know that your secrecy and 
discretion may be trusted with any thing. A thread of 
mercy ran through all the intricate maze of those afflictive 
providences, so mysterious to myself at the time, and which 
must ever remain so to all who will not see what was the 
great design of them; at the judgment-seat of Christ the 
whole shall be laid open. How is the rod of iron changed 
into a sceptre of love !" 

u I have so much cause for humility, and so much need 
of it too, and every little sneaking resentment is such an 
enemy to it, that I hope I shall never give quarter to any 
thing that appears in the shape of sullen n ess or self-conse- 
quence hereafter. Alas ! if my best Friend, who laid down 
his life for me, were to remember all the instances in which 
I have neglected him, and to plead them against me in 
judgment, where should I hide my guilty head in the day 
of recompence ? I will pray therefore for blessings upon 
my friends though they cease to be so, and upon my ene- 
mies, though they continue such." 

Cow per had now been an inmate with the Unwin family a 

f2 



68 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. 

little more than eighteen months ; and the above extracts, 
taken from his confidential letters, describe the happy frame 
of his mind, and the great progress he made in divine know- 
ledge, during this period. Living in the enjoyment of the 
divine presence himself, and associated with those who ex- 
perienced the same invaluable privilege, he tranquilly pur- 
sued the even tenor of his Christian course with undiverted 
attention, and with holy zeal ; nor did there appear the 
slightest reason to suppose that any alteration was likely 
to take place in his circumstances, or in the circumstances 
of the family. He might fairly have calculated upon the 
uninterrupted continuance, for many years, of the same dis- 
tinguished privileges ; but the dispensations of Divine Pro~ 
vidence are sometimes awfully mysterious. Events unfore- 
seen, and unexpected, are often occurring, which give a 
bias to our affairs quite different to any that we had ever 
conceived. Such was the melancholy occurrence which 
happened in this family, about this time, and which, at no 
distant period, led to Cowper's removal from Huntingdon. 

Mr. Unwin, proceeding to his church, one Sunday morn- 
ing, in July, 1767, was flung from his horse, and received 
a dreadful fracture on the back part of his skull, under 
which he languished till the following Thursday, and then 
died. Cowper, in relating this melancholy event to his 
cousin, remarks : — " This awful dispensation has left an 
impression upon our spirits which will not presently be 
worn off. May it be a lesson to us to watch, since we 
know not the day, nor the hour, when our Lord cometh. 
At nine o'clock last Sunday morning Mr. Unwin was in 
perfect health, and as likely to live twenty years as either 
of us, and by the following Thursday he was a corpse. 
The few short intervals of sense that were indulged him, he 
spent in earnest prayer, and in expressions of a firm trust 
and confidence in the only Saviour. To that strong hold 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 69 

we must resort at last, if we would have hope in death ; 
when every other refuge fails, we are glad to fly to the 
only shelter to which we can repair to any purpose ; and 
happy is it for us, when the false ground we have chosen 
for ourselves, breaks under us, and we find ourselves obliged 
to have recourse to that Rock which can never be shaken; 
when this is our lot, we receive great and undeserved 
mercy." 

" The effect of this very distressing event will only be a 
change of my abode ; for I shall still, by God's leave, con- 
tinue with Mrs. Unwin, whose behaviour to me has always 
been that of a mother to a son. We know not yet where 
we shall settle, but we trust that the Lord, whom we seek, 
will go before us, and prepare a rest for us. We have em- 
ployed our friends, Mr. Hawes, Dr. Conyers, and Mr. 
Newton, to look out a place for us, but at present are en- 
tirely ignorant under which of the three we shall settle, or 
whether under any one of them." 

Just after this melancholy event had occurred, and while 
the family were in the midst of their distress, Mr. Newton, 
then curate of Olney, while on his way home from Cam- 
bridge, providentially called upon Mrs. Unwin. The late 
Dr. Conyers had learned from Mrs. Un win's son, the change 
that had taken place in her mind, on the subject of reli- 
gion; and he accordingly requested Mr. Newton to 
embrace the earliest opportunity of having some con- 
versation with her on the subject. His visit could not 
possibly have been made at a more seasonable juncture. 
Mrs. Unwin was now almost overwhelmed with sorrow; 
and, though the strength of her Christian principles, pre- 
served her from losing that confidence in the Almighty, 
which can alone support the mind under such distressing 
circumstances, yet, both she and Mr. Cowper, stood in need 
of some judicious Christian friend, to administer to them 



70 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

the consolations of the gospel. Their Heavenly Father 
could not have sent them one more capable of binding up 
their wounds, and soothing their sorrow, than Mr. Newton. 
He knew when, instrumentally, to pour the oil of consola- 
into their wounded spirits ; and his providential visit, 
proved as useful as it was seasonable. He invited them to 
fix their future abode at Olney, whither they repaired, in 
the following October, to a house he had provided for them, 
so near the vicarage in which he lived, that by opening a 
door in the garden wall, they could exchange mutual visits, 
without entering the street. Mrs. Unwin kept the house, 
and Cowper continued to board with her, as he had done 
during her husband's life. 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 71 



CHAPTER VI. 

Commencement of Cowper's intimacy with Mr. Newton — Pleasure it 
afforded him — His charitable disposition — Means provided for 
its indulgence, by the munificence of the late J. Thornton, Esq. — 
Mr. Thornton's death — Cowper's poetic tribute to his memory — 
Remarks on the insufficiency of earthly objects to afford peace to 
the mind — His great anxiety for the spiritual welfare of his corres- 
pondents — Consolatory remarks addressed to his cousin — Severe 
affliction of his brother — Cowper's great concern on his behalf — 

— Happy change that takes place in his brother's sentiments on 
religious subjects — His death — Cowper's reflections on it — Deep 
impression it made upon his mind — Description of his brother's 
character — Engages with Mr. Newton to write the Olney Hymns 

— Marriage of Mr. Unwin's son and daughter — Cowper's severe 
indisposition. 

Great as were the advantages enjoyed by Cowper, while 
inmated with the Unwin family at Huntingdon, they were 
not to be compared with those which he experienced in his 
new situation at Olney. He spent his time nearly in the 
same manner as at Huntingdon, having the additional ad- 
vantage of frequent religious intercourse with his friend, 
Mr. Newton, with whom he was now upon terms of the 
closest intimacy. The amiable manners, and exemplary 
piety of Cowper greatly endeared him to all with whom he 
was acquainted. He gladly availed himself of the benefits 
of religious conversation with the pious persons in Mr, 
Newton's congregation, and was particularly attentive to 
those among them, who were in circumstances of poverty. 
He regularly visited the sick, and, to the utmost extent of 



72 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

his power, afforded them relief. He attended the social 
meetings for prayer established by Mr. Newton ; and at 
such seasons, when he was occasionally required to conduct 
the service, agitated as were his feelings before he com- 
menced, he no sooner began, than he poured forth his 
heart unto God in earnest intercession, with a devotion 
equally simple, sublime, and fervent, affording to all 
who were present on these occasions proofs of the unu- 
sual combination of elevated genius, exquisite sensibility, 
and profound piety, by which he was pre-eminently dis- 
tinguished. His conduct in private was consistent with 
the solemnity and fervor of these social devotional engage- 
ments. Three times a day he prayed, and gave thanks 
unto God, in retirement, besides the regular practice of 
domestic worship. His familiar acquaintance with, and 
experimental knowledge of the gospel, relieved him from 
all terror and anxiety of mind ; his soul was stayed upon 
God ; the divine promise and faithfulness were his support; 
and he lived in the enjoyment of perfect peace. 

His hymns, most of which were composed at this period, 
prove that he was no stranger to those corrupt dispositions, 
which the best of men have to bewail, and which have so 
strong a tendency to draw away the mind from God. Against 
these dispositions, however, he was constantly upon the 
watch, and by the cultivation of devotional habits, with 
the gracious aid of the Divine Spirit, he suppressed every 
irregular desire, restrained every corrupt inclination, and 
ultimately came off successful in his spiritual warfare. 

The first few years of his residence at Olney, may perhaps, 
be regarded as the happiest of his life. Associated inti- 
mately with his beloved friend, Mr. Newton, and availing 
himself of his valuable assistance, in his efforts to acquire 
divine knowledge, his heart became established in the truth, 
and he experienced that degree of confidence in God, which 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 73 

alone can ensure peace of mind, and real tranquillity. Aware 
of the pleasure which he took in visiting the poor, in his 
neighbourhood, and contributing to their relief, Mr. New- 
ton procured for him, a liberal annual allowance of cash, for 
the purpose of distribution, from the late excellent, John 
Thornton, Esq. It is almost needless to add, that becom- 
ing the almoner of this distinguished philanthropist, was 
to Cowper a source of the greatest enjoyment. No indivi- 
dual was ever more alive to the cry of distress ; he seemed, 
indeed, to possess almost an excess of this amiable sensibi- 
lity. Nothing gladdened his heart more than to be the 
means, of drying up the widow's tears, and assuaging 
the orphan's grief; which the liberality of this great 
philanthropist, allowed him often to accomplish. The de- 
cease of Mr. Thornton took place in 1790, and Cowper has 
immortalized his memory, by the following beautiful and 
sublime eulogy : — 

" Thee, Thornton, worthy in some page to shine 
As honest, and more eloquent than mine, 
I mourn ; or, since thrice happy thou must be, 
The world, no longer thy abode, not thee : 
Thee to deplore were grief mis-spent indeed ; 
It were to weep, that goodness has its meed, 
That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, 
And glory for the virtuous when they die. 

What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard, 
Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford, 
Sweet as the privilege of healing woe, 
Suffered by virtue, combating below. 
That privilege was thine ; Heaven gave thee means 
To illumine with delight the saddest scenes, 
Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn 
As midnight, and despairing of a morn. 
Thou had'st an industry in doing good, 
Restless as his who toils and sweats for food : 



74 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth, 

By rust imperishable, or by stealth ; 

And if the genuine worth of gold depend 

On application to its noblest end, 

Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven, 

Surpassing all that mine or mint has given ; 

And though God made thee of a nature prone 

To distribution, boundless, of thy own. 

And still, by motives of religious force, 

Impelled thee more to that heroic course, 

Yet was thy liberality discreet, 

Nice in its choice, and of a temperate heat ; 

And, though an act unwearied, secret still 

As, in some solitude, the summer rill 

Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green, 

And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen. 

Such was thy charity ; no sudden start, 

After long sleep, of passion in the heart ; 

But stedfast principle, and in its kind 

Of close alliance with the eternal mind, 

Traced easily to its true source above, 

To Him whose works bespeak his nature, love. 

Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make 

This record of thee for the gospel's sake, 

That the incredulous themselves may see 

Its use and power exemplified in thee." 

Owing to some cause, for which we are unable to account, 
Cowper's correspondence with his friends became much 
less frequent after his settlement at Olney, than it had been 
formerly : probably it might be attributed, in some degree 
at least, to his close intimacy with Mr. Newton, for they 
were seldom seven waking hours, apart from each other. 
The same vein of genuine and unaffected piety, however, 
runs through those letters which he did write, and they 
abound with remarks of uncommon excellence. To his 
cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus expresses his feelings : — • 
" You live in the centre of a world, I know you do not 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 75 

delight in. Happy are you, my dear friend, in being able 
to discern the insufficiency of all it can afford, to fill and 
satisfy the desires of an immortal soul. That God, who 
created us for the enjoyment of himself, has determined in 
mercy that it shall fail us here, in order that the blessed 
result of all our enquiries after happiness in the creature, 
may be a warm pursuit, and a close attachment to our true 
interests, in fellowship with him, through the mediation of 
our dear Redeemer. I bless his goodness, and his grace, 
that I have any reason to hope I am a partaker with you in 
the desire after better things, than are to be found in a world 
polluted by sin, and therefore, devoted to destruction. May 
he enable us both to consider our present life in its only true 
light, as an opportunity put into our hands to glorify him 
amongst men, by a conduct suited to his word and will. I 
am miserably defective in this holy and blessed art, but I 
hope there is, at the bottom of all my sinful infirmities, a 
desire to live just so long as I may be enabled to answer, in 
some measure, at least, the end of my existence, in this 
respect ; and then to obey the summons, and attend him in 
a world, where they who are his servants here, shall pay 
him an unsinful obedience for ever." 

The lively interest which Cowper took, in the spiritual 
welfare of his correspondents, will appear in the following 
letter to his esteemed friend, Joseph Hill, Esq., dated 
21st January 1769: — " Dear Joe: I rejoice with you in 
your recovery, and that you have escaped from the hands 
of one, from whose hands you will not always escape. 
Death is either the most formidable, or most comfortable 
thing, we have in prospect, on this side of eternity. To be 
brought near to him, and to discern neither of these fea- 
tures in his face, would argue a degree of insensibility, of 
which I will not suspect my friend, whom I know to be a 
thinking man. You have been brought down to the sides 



76 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

of the grave, and you have been raised up again by him, 
who has the keys of the invisible world ; who opens, and 
none can shut, who shuts and none can open. I do not 
forget to return thanks to him on your behalf, and to pray 
that your life, which he has spared, may be devoted to his 
service. i Behold ! I stand at the door, and knock/ is the 
word of him, in whom both our mortal and immortal life 
depend, and blessed be his name ; it is the word of one who 
wounds only that he may heal, and who waits to be gracious. 
The language of every such dispensation is, ' Prepare to meet 
thy God/ It speaks with the voice of mercy and goodness, 
for without such notices, whatever preparation we might 
make for other events, we should make none for this. My 
dear friend, I desire and pray, that when this last enemy 
shall come to execute an unlimited commission on us, we 
may be found ready, being established and rooted in a 
well-grounded faith in his name who conquered death, and 
triumphed over him on the cross. If I am ever enabled to 
look forward to death with comfort, which I thank God is 
sometimes the case, I do not take my view of it from the 
top of my own works and deservings, though God is witness, 
that the labour of my life is to keep a conscience void of 
offence towards him. Death is always formidable to me, 
but when I see him disarmed of his sting by having it 
sheathed in the body of Christ Jesus." 

To the same friend, on another occasion, he thus writes : — 
" I take a friend's share in all your concerns, so far as they 
come to my knowledge, and consequently, did not receive 
the news of your marriage with indifference. I wish you 
and your bride all the happiness that belongs to the state; 
and the still greater felicity of that state, which marriage is 
only a type of. All those connexions shall be dissolved ; 
but there is, an indissoluble bond between Christ and his 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 77 

church, the subject of derision to an unthinking world, but 
the glory and happiness of all his people." 

No one knew better how to administer consolation to 
those who were in distress, and certainly no one ever took a 
greater delight in doing it than Cowper. To his amiable 
cousin, Mrs. Cowper, who had been called to sustain a 
severe domestic affliction, he writes as follows : — tc A letter 
from your brother, brought me yesterday, the most afflict- 
ing intelligence that has reached me these many years, I 
pray God to comfort you, and to enable you to sustain this 
heavy stroke with that resignation to his will, which none 
but himself can give, and which he gives to none but his 
own children. How blessed and happy is your lot, my dear 
friend, beyond the lot of the greater part of mankind : that 
you know what it is to draw near to God in prayer, and 
are acquainted with a throne of grace ! You have resources 
in the infinite love of a dear Redeemer, which are withheld 
from millions : and the promises of God, which are, yea 
and amen in Christ Jesus, are sufficient to answer all your 
necessities, and to sweeten the bitterest cup which your 
Heavenly Father will ever put into your hand. May he 
now give you liberty to drink at these wells of salvation 
till you are filled with consolation and peace, in the midst 
of trouble. He has said, When thou passest through the 
fire, I will be with thee, and when through the floods, they 
shall not overflow thee. You have need of such a word as 
this, and he knows your need of it ; and the time of neces- 
sity is the time when he will be sure to appear in behalf 
of those who trust in him. I bear you and yours upon my 
heart before him, night and day. For I never expect to 
hear of distress, which shall call upon me with a louder 
voice to pray for the sufferer. I know the Lord hears me 
for myself, vile and sinful as I am, and believe, and am 



78 . THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

sure, that lie will hear me for you also. He is the friend 
of the widow, and the father of the fatherless, even God 
in his holy habitation ; in all our afflictions he is afflicted ; 
and when he chastens us, it is in mercy. Surely he will 
sanctify this dispensation to you, do you great and ever- 
lasting good by it, make the world appear like dust and 
vanity in your sight, as it truly is, and opeu to your view 
the glories of a better country, where there shall be no 
more death, neither sorrow, nor pain ; but God shall wipe 
away all tears from your eyes for ever. O that comfort- 
able word ! * I have chosen thee in the furnace of afflic- 
tion ;' so that our very sorrows are evidences of our calling, 
and he chastens us because we are his children. My dear 
cousin, I commit you to the word of his grace, and to the 
comforts of his Holy Spirit. Your life is needful for your 
family ; may God, in mercy to them, prolong it, and may 
he preserve you from the dangerous effects which a stroke 
like this might have upon a frame so tender as yours. I 
grieve for you, I pray for you, could I do more I would, 
but God must comfort you." 

Cowper had scarcely forwarded this consolatory and 
truly Christian letter, when he was himself visited with a 
trial so severe as to call into exercise all that confidence in 
the Almighty which he had endeavoured to excite in the 
mind of his amiable relative. He received a letter from 
his brother, then residing as a Fellow in Bene't College, 
Cambridge, between whom and himself there had always 
existed an affection truly fraternal, stating that he was se- 
riously indisposed. No brothers were ever more warmly 
interested in each other's welfare. At the commencement 
of Cowper's affliction, which led to his removal to St. 
Albans, his brother had watched over him with the tender- 
est solicitude ; and it was doubtless owing, in a great de- 
gree, to this tenderness, that Cowper was placed under the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 79 

care of Dr. Cotton. While he remained at St. Albans, his 
brother visited him, and, as has been related above, became 
the means of contributing materially to his recovery. On 
Cowper's removal to Huntingdon, these affectionate bro- 
thers adopted a plan for a frequent and regular interchange 
of visits, so that they were seldom many days without see- 
ing each other, though the distance between their places 
of abode was fifteen miles ; and, even after Cowper's re- 
moval to Olney, his brother, during the first two years, 
paid him several visits ; they seemed, indeed, mutually 
delighted with an opportunity of being in each other's 
company. 

Cowper, on hearing of his brother's illness, immediately 
repaired to Cambridge. To his inexpressible grief he 
found him in a condition that left little or no hopes of his 
recovery. In a letter to Mrs. Cowper, he thus describes 
his case : — " My brother continues much as he was. His 
case is a very dangerous one — an imposthume of the liver, 
attended by an asthma, and dropsy. The physician has 
little hopes of his recovery ; indeed, I might say none at all, 
only, being a friend, he does not formally give him over by 
ceasing to visit him, lest it should sink his spirits. For my 
own part, I have no expectation of it, except by a signal 
interposition of Providence in answer to prayer. His case 
is clearly out of the reach of medicine, but I have seen 
many a sickness healed, where the danger has been equally 
threatening, by the only Physician of value. I doubt not 
he will have an interest in your prayers, as he has in the 
prayers of many. May the Lord incline his ear, and give 
an answer of peace. I know it is good to be afflicted ; I 
trust you have found it so, and that under the teaching of 
the spirit of God, we shall both be purified. It is the de- 
sire of my soul to seek a better country, where God shall 
wipe away all tears from the eyes of his people, and where, 



80 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

looking back upon the ways by which he has led us, we 
shall be filled with everlasting wonder, love, and praise." 

Finding his brother on the verge of the grave, Cowper 
discovered the greatest anxiety respecting his everlasting 
welfare. He knew that his sentiments on some of the 
most important truths of religion had been long unsettled ; 
and, fully aware that while such was the case, he could ex- 
perience no solid enjoyment in the present life, whatever 
might be his condition in future, he laboured diligently to 
give him those views of the gospel, which he had himself 
found, so singularly beneficial ; nor did he labour in vain. 
He had the unspeakable gratification to witness the com- 
plete triumph of the truth, and its consolatory influence 
upon the mind of his beloved brother, in his dying moments. 
Writing to Mr. Hill, he says : — "It pleased God to cut 
short my brother's connections and expectations here, yet, 
not without giving him lively and glorious views, of a better 
happiness, than any he could propose to himself in such a 
world as this. Notwithstanding his great learning, (for he 
was one of the chief men in the university in that respect,) 
he was candid and sincere in his inquiries after truth. 
Though he could not agree to my sentiments when I first 
acquainted him with them, nor in many conversations, 
which I afterwards had with him upon the subject, could 
he be brought to acquiesce in them as scriptural and true, 
yet I had no sooner left St. Albans, than he began to study 
with the deepest attention those points on which we dif- 
fered, and to furnish himself with the best writers upon 
them. His mind was kept open to conviction for five 
years, during all which time he laboured in this pursuit 
with unwearied diligence, whilst leisure and opportunity 
were afForded. Amongst his dying words were these: — 
1 Brother, I thought you wrong, yet wanted to believe as 
you did. I found myself not able to believe, yet always 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK. 81 

thought I should be one day brought to do so.' From the 
study of books he was brought, upon his death-bed, to the 
study of himself, and there learnt to renounce his righteous- 
ness, and his own most amiable character, and to submit 
himself to the righteousness which is of God by faith. 
With these views, he was desirous of death : satisfied of 
his interest in the blessing purchased by the blood of 
Christ, he prayed for death with earnestness, felt the ap- 
proaches of it with joy, and died in peace." 

It afforded Cowper inexpressible delight, to witness, in 
his brother's case, the consoling and animating power of 
those principles, which he had himself found to be so 
highly beneficial. This had been the object of his most 
anxious solicitude, from the period that God was pleased 
to visit him with the consolations of his grace. From that 
time he took occasion to declare to his brother what God 
had done for his soul; and neglected no opportunity of 
attempting to engage him in conversation of a spiritual 
kind. On his first visit to him at Cambridge, after he left 
St. Alban's, his heart being then full of the subject, he 
poured it out to his brother without reserve, taking care to 
shew him, that what he had received was not merely a 
new set of notions, but a real impression of the truths of 
the gospel. His brother listened to his statements at first 
with some attention, and often laboured to convince him, 
that the difference in their sentiments was much less real 
than verbal. Subsequently, however, he became more re- 
served ; and though he heard patiently, he never replied, 
nor ever discovered a desire to converse on the subject. 
At the commencement of his affliction, little as was the 
concern he then felt for his spiritual interests, the thoughts 
of God, and of eternity, would sometimes force themselves 
upon his mind ; at every little prospect of recovery, how- 
ever, he found it no difficult matter to thrust them out 



82 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

again. It was evident that his mind was very far from 
being set on things spiritual and heavenly, as on almost 
every subject, but that of religion, he could converse flu- 
ently. At every suitable opportunity Cowper endeavoured 
to give a serious turn to the discourse, but without any ap- 
parent success. Having obtained his permission, he prayed 
with him frequently ; still, however, he seemed as careless 
and unconcerned as ever. 

On one occasion, after his brother had, with much diffi- 
culty, survived a severe paroxysm of his disorder, he ob- 
served to him, as he sat by his bed-side, " that, though it 
had pleased God to visit him with great afflictions, yet 
mercy was mingled with the dispensation. You have 
many friends that love you, and are willing to do all they 
can to serve you, and so, perhaps, have many others in the 
like circumstances; but it is not the Lot of every sick man, 
how much soever he may be beloved, to have a friend that 
can pray for him." He replied, " That is true ; and I hope 
God will have mercy upon me." His love to Cowper, from 
that time, became very remarkable ; there was a tender- 
ness in it more than was merely natural ; and he generally 
expressed it by calling for blessings upon him in the most 
affectionate terms, and with a look and manner not to be 
described. One afternoon, a few days before he died, he 
suddenly burst into tears, and said, with a loud cry, " O 
forsake me not !" Cowper went to the bed-side, grasped his 
hand, and tenderly enquired why he wished him to remain. 
" O, brother," said he, u I am full of what I could say to 
you ; if I live, you and I shall be more like one another 
than we have been ; but, whether I live, or not, all is well, 
and will be so ; I know it well; I have felt that which I 
never felt before ; and am sure that God has visited me 
with this sickness, to teach me what I was too proud to 
learn in health. I never had satisfaction till now, having 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 83 

no ground to rest my hopes upon ; but now I have a foun- 
dation which nothing can shake. I have peace in myself; 
and if I live, I hope it will be that I might be a messenger 
of peace to others. I have learned that in a moment, which 
I could not have learned by reading many books for many 
years. The light I have, received comes late, but not too 
late, and it is a comfort to me that I never made the 
gospel-truths a subject of ridicule. This bed would be to 
me a bed of misery, and it is so ; but it is likewise a bed of 
joy, and a bed of discipline. Was I to die this night, I 
know I should be happy. This assurance, I hope, is quite 
consistent with the word of God. It is built upon a sense 
of my own utter insufficiency, and all-sufficiency of Christ. 
There is but one key to the New Testament ; there is but 
one interpreter. I cannot describe to you, nor shall I ever 
be able to describe to you, what I felt when this was given 
to me. May I make a good use of it ! How I shudder 
when I think of the danger I have just escaped! How 
wonderful is it that God should look upon me ! Yet he 
sees me, and takes notice of all that I suffer. I see him 
too, and can hear him say, Come unto me, all ye that are 
weary and heavy laden, and I will give you peace." He 
survived this change only a few days, and died happily, 
rejoicing in hope of the glory of God. 

An event like this, could not fail to make a deep impres- 
sion upon the tender spirit of Cowper, and his feelings on 
the occasion, were such as are not experienced by ordinary 
minds. The following letter to his amiable cousin shows 
clearly the state of his mind: — " You judge rightly of the 
manner in which I have been affected by the Lord's late 
dispensation towards my brother. I found it a cause of 
sorrow that I lost so near a relation, and one so deservedly 
dear to me, and that he left me just when our sentiments 
upon the most interesting subject became the same. But 

g2 



84 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

it was also a cause of joy, that it pleased God to give me a 
clear and evident proof that he had changed his heart, and 
adopted him into the number of his children. For this I 
hold myself peculiarly bound to thank him, because he 
might have done all that he was pleased to do for him, and 
yet have afforded him neither strength nor opportunity to 
declare it. He told me, that from the time he was first 
ordained, he began to be dissatisfied with his religious opi- 
nions, and to suspect that there were greater things revealed 
in the Bible, than were generally believed or allowed to be 
there. From the time when I first visited him, after my 
release from St. Alban's, he began to read upon the subject. 
It was at that time I informed him of the views of divine 
truth, which I had received in that school of affliction. He 
laid what I said to heart, and began to furnish himself 
with the best writers on the controverted points, whose 
works he read with great diligence and attention, carefully 
comparing them with the Scriptures. None ever truly, and 
ingenuously sought the truth, but they found it. A spirit 
of earnest enquiry is the gift of God, who never says to any, 
Seek ye my face, in vain. Accordingly, about ten days 
before his death, it pleased the Lord to dispel all his doubts, 
to reveal in his heart the knowledge of the Saviour, and to 
give him that firm and unshaken confidence in the ability 
and willingness of Christ to save sinners, which is inva- 
riably followed by a joy that is unspeakable and full of 
glory." 

Of the character of his much beloved brother, whose 
death filled him with mingled emotions of joy and grief, 
Cowper has given the following interesting description :• — 
" He was a man of a most candid and ingenuous spirit ; 
his temper remarkably sweet, and in his behaviour to me 
he had always manifested an uncommon affection. His 
outward conduct, so far as it fell under my notice, or I 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 85 

could learn it by the report of others, was perfectly decent 
and unblameable. There was nothing vicious in any part 
of his practice, but being of a studious, thoughtful turn, he 
placed his chief delight in the acquisition of learning, and 
made such progress in it, that he had but few rivals. He 
was critically skilled in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew 
languages ; was beginning to make himself master of the 
Syriac, and perfectly understood the French and Italian, 
the latter of which he could speak fluently. Learned, how- 
ever, as he was, he was easy and cheerful in his conversa- 
tion, and entirely„free from the stiffness which is generally 
contracted by men devoted to such pursuits.'' 

. . . " I had a brother once ; 
Peace to the memory of a man of worth ! 
A man of letters and of manners too ! 
Of manners, sweet, as virtue always wears, 
When gay good humour dresses her in smiles ! 
He grac'd a college, in which order yet 
Was sacred, and was honoured, lov'd, and wept 
By more than one, themselves conspicuous there." 

Notwithstanding the cheerfulness with which Cowper 
bore up under this painful bereavement, when it first oc- 
curred, owing to the happy circumstances related above, 
with which it was attended, yet there is reason to believe 
that it made an impression upon his peculiarly sensitive 
mind, more deep than visible ; and that was not soon to 
be effaced. It unquestionably diminished his attachment 
to the world, and made him less unwilling to leave it. 
Writing to his friend, Mr. Hill, at this time, he says : — 
" I have not done conversing with terrestrial objects, though 
I should be happy were I able to hold more continual con- 
verse with a friend above the skies. He has my heart, but 
he allows a corner of it for all who shew me kindness, and 
therefore one for you, I The storm of 1763, made a wreck 






86 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

of the friendships I had contracted, in the course of many 
years, yours only excepted, which has survived the tem- 
pest." 

It appears not improbable that his friend, Mr. Newton, 
might have witnessed, in the morbid tendency of his mind 
to melancholy, of which he then discovered symptoms, 
some traces of the deep and extensive wound which his 
mind had received by this event, though his efforts to 
conceal it were incessant. Hence, he wisely engaged him 
in a literary undertaking, congenial to his taste, suited to 
his admirable talents, and, perhaps, more adapted to alle- 
viate his distress than any other that could have been se- 
lected. Mr. Newton had felt the want of a volume of evan- 
gelical hymns, on experimental subjects, suited for public 
and private worship ; he mentioned the subject to Cowper, 
and pressed him to undertake it, and the result was, a 
friendly compact to supply the volume between them, with 
an understanding that Cowper was to be the principal com- 
poser. He entered upon this work with great pleasure ; and 
though he does not appear previous to this, to have employed 
his poetical talents for a considerable time, yet the admi- 
rable hymns he composed, shew with what ease he could 
write upon the doctrinal, experimental, or practical parts of 
Christianity. One of our best living poets, whose writings 
more frequently remind us of Cowper's than any we have 
ever read, in an essay on the poet's productions, remarks : — • 
" Of these hymns, it must suffice to say, that, like all his 
best compositions, they are principally communings with 
his own heart, or avowals of personal Christian experience.. 
As such they are frequently applicable to every believer's 
feelings, and touch, unexpectedly, the most secret springs 
of joy and sorrow, faith, fear, hope, love, trial, despondency, 
and triumph. Some allude to infirmities, the most difficult 
to be described, but often the source of excruciating an- 



THE -LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 87 

guish to the tender conscience. The 72d hymn, Book I. is 
written with the confidence of inspiration, and the autho- 
rity of a prophet. The 96th hymn, of the same book, is a 
perfect allegory in miniature, without a failing point, or 
confusion of metaphor, from beginning to end. Hymn 51, 
Book III. presents a transformation, which, if found in 
Ovid, might have been extolled as the happiest of his 
fictions. Hymn 12, Book II. closes with one of the hardiest 
figures to be met with out of the Hebrew Scriptures. None 
but a poet of the highest order could have written it ; 
verses cannot go beyond it, and painting cannot approach 
it. Hymn 38, Book II. is a strain of noble simplicity, 
expressive of confidence the most remote from presump- 
tion, and such as a heart at peace with God alone could 
enjoy or utter. Who can read the 55th hymn, Book II. 
without feeling as if he could, at that moment, forsake all, 
take up his cross, and follow his Saviour ? The 19th hymn, 
Book III. is a model of tender pleading, of believing, 
persevering prayer in trouble ; and the following one is a 
brief parody of Bunyan's finest passage, and is admirable 
of its kind. The reader might almost imagine himself 
Christian on his pilgrimage, the triumph and the trance 
are brought so home to his bosom. Hymn 15, of the same 
book, is a lyric of high tone and character, and rendered 
awfully interesting, by the circumstances under which it 
was written — in the twilight of departing reason."* 

The benevolent heart of Cowper was delighted in a high 
degree to co-operate with a man of Mr. Newton's talents 
and piety, in promoting the advancement of religion in his 
neighbourhood. It is deeply to be regretted, that when he 
had only composed sixty-eight hymns, all of which were 
uncommonly excellent, and were afterwards published by 
Mr. Newton in the Olney Collection, he was laid aside 

* Essay on Cowper's Productions, by James Montgomery. 



88 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

from the interesting employment by serious indisposition. 
It pleased God, for reasons inscrutable to us, and which it 
would be impious to arraign, to visit the afflicted poet, with 
a renewed attack of his former hypochondriacal complaint, 
more protracted, and not less violent, than the one he had 
before experienced. Just on the eve of the attack he com- 
posed the following sublime hymn — 

" God moves in a mysterious way, 
His wonders to perform ; 
He plants his footsteps in the sea, 
And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 
Of never failing skill 
He treasures up his bright designs, 
And works his sovereign will. 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ! 
The clouds ye so much dread 
Are big with mercy, and shall break 
In blessings on your head. 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust him for his grace ; 
Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes all ripen fast, 
Unfolding every hour ; 
The bud may have a bitter taste 
But sweet will be the flower. 

Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
And scan His work in vain ; 
God is his own interpreter, 
And he will make it plain." 









THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 89 



CHAPTER VII. 

Great severity of Cowper's mental depression — His presentiment of it 
— Its consequences — Remarks upon its probable cause — Absur- 
dity of attributing it, in any degree, to religion — Mrs. Unwin's 
great attention to him — His aversion to the company of strangers 
Symptoms of his recovery — Domesticates three leverets — Amuse- 
ment they afforded him — Mr. Newton's removal from Olney — 
Introduction of Mr. Bull to Cowper — His translation of Madame 
de la Guyon's poems, at Mr. Bull's request — Commences his ori- 
ginal productions, at the suggestion of Mrs. Unwin — Renews his 
correspondence with Mr. and Mrs. Newton — Describes the state 
of his mind. 

We are again arrived at another of those melancholy pe- 
riods of Cowper's life, over which it must be alike the duty 
of the biographer, and the wish of the reader, to cast a veil. 
Mental aberration, whoever may be the subject of it, excites 
the tenderest commiseration of all ; but if there be a time 
when it may be contemplated with emotions more truly 
distressing than another, it is when it attacks those who 
are endowed with talents the most brilliant, with disposi- 
tions the most amiable, and with piety the most ardent and 
unobtrusive. Such was eminently the case in the present 
instance. To see a mind like Cowper's, enveloped in the 
thickest gloom of despondency, and for several years, in 
the prime of life, remaining in a state of complete inactivity 
and misery, must have been distressing in no ordinary 
degree. 

A short time previous to the afflictive visitation, Cowper 
appears to have received some presentiment of its approach, 



90 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

and during a solitary walk in the fields, as was hinted above, 
he composed that beautiful hymn in the Olney collection 
with which we closed our last chapter. On this occasion, 
acute as may have been his feelings, he must have expe- 
rienced an unshaken confidence in God ; for it is scarcely 
possible to read this admirable production, however dark 
and distressing the dispensations of Divine Providence 
towards us may be, without enjoying the same delightful 
emotions. About the same time, he composed the hymn, 
entitled i Temptation/ the following lines from which will 
show how powerfully his mind was then exercised. 

" The billows swell, the winds are high, 
Clouds overcast my wintry sky ; 
Out of the depths to thee I call, 
My fears are great, my strength is small. 

O Lord, the pilot's part perform, 
And guide and guard me through the storm ; 
Defend me from each threatening ill, 
Controul the waves, say c Peace, be still.' 

Amidst the roaring of the sea, 
My soul still hangs her hope on thee ; 
Thy constant love, thy faithful care, 
Is all that saves me from despair/' 

He now relapsed into a state, very much resembling that, 
which had previously occasioned his removal to St. Alban's. 
This second attack occurred in 1773; he remained in the 
same painful and melancholy condition, without even a 
single alleviation of his sufferings, for the protracted period 
of five years ; and it was five years more, before he wholly 
recovered the use of his admirable powers. His mind, 
which could formerly soar on the wings of faith and love, 
to the utmost limits of Christian knowledge and enjoy- 
ment, now sunk into the lowest depths of depression ; and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 91 

here seemed as if it would remain immoveably fixed : re- 
jecting, with deplorable firmness, every species of consola- 
tion that was attempted to be administered. 

Various causes have been assigned, by different writers, 
for the melancholy aberration of mind of which Cowper 
was now, and at other seasons of his life, the subject; but 
none are so irreconcilable to every thing like just and legi- 
timate reasoning, as the attempt to ascribe it to religion. 
That unjust views of the character of God, and of the na- 
ture of the gospel, may never have been the predisposing 
causes of great and severe mental depression, we are not 
disposed to deny ; though we think this a case of very rare 
occurrence, and one in which the subject of it must be in 
a state of great ignorance respecting the fundamental 
truths of religion. Ought this, however, when it does 
happen, to be identified with religion, of which, at the 
best, it can only be regarded as a mere caricature? There 
was evidently, in the case of Cowper, nothing that bore 
the slightest resemblance to this. Making some allow- 
ances for expressions occasionally employed by him pecu- 
liar to the system which he had embraced, perhaps it will 
not be saying too much to affirm, that no individual ever 
entertained more scriptural views of the gospel dispensa- 
tion, in all its parts, and of the perfections and attributes 
of its great Author, than this excellent man. The letters 
he wrote to his correspondents, and the hymns he com- 
posed, prior to this second attack, prove unquestionably 
that his views of religion were at the remotest distance 
from what can be termed visionary or enthusiastic : on the 
contrary, they were perfectly scriptural and evangelical, 
and were consequently, infinitely more adapted to support, 
than to depress his mind. 

The living poet whom we have before quoted, remarks : 
— " With regard to Cowper's malady, there scarcely needs 



92 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

any other proof that it was not occasioned by his religion 
than this, that the error on which he stumbled was in di- 
rect contradiction to his creed. He believed that he had 
been predestinated to life, yet under his delusion imagined 
that God, who cannot lie, repent, or change, had, in his 
sole instance, and in one moment, reversed his own decree, 
which had been in force from all eternity. At the same 
time, by a perversion of the purest principles of Christian 
obedience, he was so submissive to what he erroneously 
supposed was the will of God, that, to have saved himself 
from the very destruction which he dreaded, he would not 
avail himself of any of the means of grace, even presum- 
ing they might have been efficacious, because he believed 
they were forbidden to him. Yet, in spite of the self- 
evident impossibility, of his faith, affecting a sound mind, 
with such a hallucination ; though a mind previously dis- 
eased, might as readily fall into that as any other; in spite 
of chronology, his first aberration having taken place before 
he had ' tasted the good word of God ;' in spite of geo- 
graphy, that calamity having befallen him in London, 
where he had no acquaintance with persons holding the 
reprobated doctrines of election and sovereign grace ; and 
in spite of fact, utterly undeniable, that the only effectual 
consolations which he experienced under his first or subse- 
quent attacks of depression, arose from the truths of the 
gospel; — in spite of all these unanswerable confutations 
of the ignorant and malignant falsehood, the enemies of 
Christian truth persevere in repeating, ' that too much re- 
ligion made poor Cowper mad/ If they be sincere, they 
are themselves under the strongest delusion ; and it will 
be well, if it prove not, on their part, a wilful one — it 
will be well, if they have not reached that last perversity 
of human reason, to believe a falsehood of their own in- 
vention." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 93 

The remarks of Mr. Hayley, in his admirable life of the 
poet, page 144, vol. 1, are, we think, liable to some objec- 
tion. He says — " So fearfully and wonderfully are we 
made, that man in all conditions ought, perhaps, to pray 
that he never may be led to think of his Creator and of his 
Redeemer, either too little or too much, since human misery 
is often seen to arise equally, from an utter neglect of all 
spiritual concerns, and from a wild extravagance of devo- 
tion." 

It is surely needless to observe, that the devotion of 
Cowper was as much unlike what could, with any degree of 
propriety, be termed wild or extravagant, as can well be 
imagined. To what description of devotion Mr. Hayley 
would apply these epithets we cannot tell, but surely not 
to that which is scripturally evangelical, which was emi- 
nently the character of Cowper's, and which is of a nature 
so heavenly and spiritual, so perfectly adapted to the cir- 
cumstances of mankind, and withal so soothing and con- 
soling, that it can never be carried to excess. The more 
powerfully its influence is felt upon the mind, the more 
extensive must be the enjoyment it produces, unless when 
it pleases God, as in the case of Cowper, to disorganize 
the mental powers, and thereby unfit it for the reception 
of that comfort which it would otherwise experience. 

Mental disorganization may undoubtedly arise from an 
almost infinite variety of causes, many of which, as in the 
poet's case, must for ever elude our search, though they are 
all under the controul of that God who is the giver of life 
and its preserver. Real religion, however, which consists 
in a cordial reception of the truth in the heart, can never 
produce it in the remotest degree : evangelical devotion 
cannot be too intense, nor can we know too much of our 
Creator and Redeemer. Contemplating the Divine Being 
apart from the gospel of Christ, or through the distort- 



94 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM 'COWPER. 

ing medium of our own fancies, may possibly, in some 
cases, produce depression, viewing him as he is presented 
to our minds in the scriptures, in all the plenitude of his 
goodness and benevolence, is sure to be productive of con- 
sequences directly opposite. Instead of there being any 
danger likely to arise from having our thoughts too much 
employed upon the character of God, we think a scrip- 
turally comprehensive view of his perfections the best pos- 
sible preservative from despair. To represent an excess of 
devotion as the cause of Cowper's malady, in however 
slight a degree, is obviously opposed to every consistent 
view of religion, and is assigning that for its cause which 
was infinitely more likely to become its only effectual cure. 
The melancholy condition to which Cowper was now 
reduced, afforded Mrs. Unwin an opportunity of proving 
the warmth of her affection for, and the sincerity of her 
attachment to, the dejected poet. He now required to be 
watched with the greatest care, vigilance, and perseverance; 
and it pleased God to endow her with all that tenderness, 
fortitude, and firmness of mind, which were requisite for 
the proper discharge of duties so important. Her inces- 
sant care over him, during the long fit of his depressive 
malady, could only be equalled by the pleasure she expe- 
rienced, on seeing his pure and powerful mind, gradually 
emerge from that awful state of darkness, in which it had 
been enveloped ; into the clear sunshine of liberty and 
peace : she hailed his approach to convalescence, slowly as 
it advanced, with the mingled emotions of gratitude and 
praise. 

Cowper, throughout the whole of this severe attack, was 
inaccessible to all, except his friend Mr. Newton, who, 
during the whole of its continuance, watched over him 
with the greatest tenderness, and was indefatigable in 
his efforts to administer consolation to his depressed spi- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 95 

rit. He once entertained him fourteen months at the 
vicarage, and, with untired perseverance, laboured inces- 
santly to dissipate the dark cloud that had gathered over 
his mind ; but to every consolatory suggestion he was ut- 
terly deaf, concluding that God had rejected him, and that, 
consequently, it was sinful for him even to wish for mercy. 
How awful are the effects of mental disorganization ! how 
easily does it convert that into poison which was designed 
for solid food ! how highly ought we to prize, and how 
thankful ought we to be, for the uninterrupted enjoyment 
of our mental powers ! 

After enduring an accumulation of anguish, almost in- 
conceivable, for the long space of five years, unalleviated 
by a single glimpse of comfort, the interesting sufferer be- 
gan at length gradually to recover. He listened to the 
advice of Mrs. Unwin, and allowed her, occasionally at 
least, to divert his mind from those melancholy considera- 
tions by which he had so long been burdened. It now 
occurred to Mrs. Unwin, that he might probably find it 
beneficial to be employed in some amusing occupation. 
She suggested this to some of her neighbours, who all de- 
plored the poet's case, felt a lively interest in his welfare, 
and would gladly have done any thing in their power, that 
was the least likely to mitigate his distress. 

The children of one of his neighbours had recently given 
them, for a plaything, a young leveret ; it was at that time 
about three months old. Understanding better how to 
teaze the poor creature than to feed it, and soon becoming 
weary of their charge, they readily consented that their 
father, who saw it pining, and growing leaner every day, 
should offer it to Cowper's acceptance. Beginning then to 
be glad of any thing that would engage his attention with- 
out fatiguing it, he was willing enough to take the prisoner 
under his protection, perceiving that, in the management of 



96 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

such an animal, and in the attempt to tame it, he should 
find just that sort of employment which his case required. 
It was soon known among his neighbours that he was 
pleased with the present ; and the consequence was, that 
in a short time, he had as many leverets offered him, as 
would have stocked a paddock. He undertook the care of 
three, which he named Puss, Tiney, and Bess. The choice 
of their food, and the diversity of their dispositions, af- 
forded him considerable amusement, and their occasional 
diseases excited his sympathy and tenderness. One re- 
mained with him during the whole of his abode at Olney, 
and was afterwards celebrated in his unrivalled poem, the 
Task ; and at its decease, honoured with a beautiful epi- 
taph from his pen ; another lived with him nearly nine 
years ; but the third did not long survive the restraints of its 
confined situation. An admirably written narrative of these 
animals, from his own pen, was inserted in the Gentleman's 
Magazine of that day, which has since been published at 
the end of almost every edition of his works. 

For a considerable period, Cowper's only companions were 
Mrs. Unwin, Mr. and Mrs. Newton, and his three hares. 
About this time, it pleased God to remove Mr. Newton, to 
another scene of labour. Deeply interested in the welfare of 
his afflicted friend, and aware of his aversion to the visits 
of strangers, Mr. Newton thought it advisable, before he 
left Olney, to introduce to his interesting but most afflicted 
friend, the Rev. Mr. Bull, of Newport Pagnel. After some 
difficulty, Mr. Newton triumphed over Cowper's extreme 
reluctance to see strangers, and Mr. Bull visited him regu- 
larly once a fortnight, and gradually acquired his cordial 
and confidential esteem. 

Of this gentleman, Cowper, in one of his letters, gives 
the following playful and amusing description : — "You 
are not acquainted with the Rev. Mr, Bull, of Newport — 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 97 

perhaps it is as well for you that you are not. You would 
regret still more than you do, that there are so many miles 
interposed between us. He spends part of the day with us 
to-morrow. A dissenter, but a liberal one ; a man of letters 
and of genius ; master of a fine imagination, or rather not 
master of it ; an imagination which, when he finds himself 
in the company he loves, and can confide in, runs away 
with him into such fields of speculation, as amuse and en- 
liven every other imagination that has the happiness to be 
of the party. At other times, he has a tender and delicate 
sort of melancholy in his disposition, not less agreeable in 
its way. No men are better qualified for companions in 
such a world as this, than men of such a temperament. 
Every scene of life has two sides, a dark and a bright one ; 
and the mind that has an equal mixture of melancholy and 
vivacity, is best of all qualified for the contemplation of 
either. He can be lively without levity, and pensive '") 
without dejection. Such a man is Mr. Bull: but — he \ 
smokes tobacco — nothing is perfect." 

Mr. Bull, who probably regarded the want of some re- 
gular employment as one of the predisposing causes of 
Cowper's illness, prevailed upon him to translate several 
spiritual songs, from the poetry of Madame de la Mothe 
Guyon, the friend of the mild and amiable Fenelon. The 
devotion of these songs is not of that purely unexception- 
able character which might be wished ; and if devotional 
excitement had been the cause of Cowper's malady, no 
recommendation could have been more injudicious. The 
result, how ever, was beneficial to the poet, instead of being 
injurious, proving irresistibly that devotion had a sooth- 
ing, rather than an irritating effect upon his mind. 

Much as Cowper admired these songs, for that rich vein 
of pure and exalted devotion, which runs through the whole 
of them, he was not insensible to their defects, as will 



98 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

appear by the following remarks : — " The French poetess is 
certainly chargeable with the fault you mention, though I 
think it not so glaring in the piece sent you. I have en- 
deavoured, indeed, in all the translations I have made, to 
cure her of the evil, either by the suppression of exception- 
able passages, or by a more sober manner of expression. 
Still, however, she will be found to have conversed fami- 
liarly with God, but I hope not fulsomely, nor so as to give 
reasonable disgust to a religious reader. That God should 
deal familiarly with man, or, which is the same thing, that 
he should permit man to deal familiarly with him, seems 
not very difficult to conceive, or presumptuous to suppose, 
when some things are taken into consideration. Woe to the 
sinner, however, that shall dare to take a liberty with him 
that is not warranted by his word, or to which he himself has 
not encouraged him. When he assumed man's nature, he re- 
vealed himself as the friend of man. He conversed freely 
with him while he was upon earth, and as freely with him 
after his resurrection. I doubt not, therefore, that it is 
possible to enjoy an access to him even now, unincumbered 
with ceremonious awe, easy, delightful, and without con- 
straint. This, however, can only be the lot of those who 
make it the business of their lives to please him, and to 
cultivate communion with him ; and then I presume there 
can be no danger of offence, because such a habit of the 
soul is his own creation, and near as we come, we come no 
nearer to him than he is pleased to draw us : if we address 
him as children, it is because he tells us he is our Father ; 
if we unbosom ourselves to him as our friend, it is because 
he calls us friends ; if we speak to him in the language of 
love, it is because he first used it, thereby teaching us that 
it is the language he delights to hear from his people. 
But I confess, that through the weakness, the folly, and 
corruption of human nature, this privilege, like all other 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 99 

Christian privileges, is liable to abuse. There is a mixture 
of evil in every thing we do ; indulgence encourages us to 
encroach, and while we exercise the rights of children, we 
become childish. Here, I think, is the point in which my 
authoress failed, and here it is that I have particularly 
guarded my translation, not afraid of representing her as 
dealing with God familiarly but foolishly, irreverently, and 
without due attention to his majesty, of which she is some- 
what guilty. A wonderful fault for such a woman to fall 
into, who spent her life in the contemplation of his glory, 
who seems to have been always impressed with a sense 
of it, and sometimes quite absorbed by the views she had 
of it." 

Mrs. Unwin, who still watched over her patient with the 
tenderest anxiety, saw, with inexpressible delight, the first 
efforts of his mind, after his long and painful depression ; 
and perceiving that translation had a good effect, she wisely 
urged him to employ his mind in composing some original 
poem, which she thought more likely to become beneficial. 
Cowper now listened to her advice, and felt so powerfully 
the obligations under which he was laid to her, for her con- 
tinued attention and kindness, that he cheerfully complied 
with her request. The result exceeded her most sanguine 
expectations. A beautiful poem was produced, entitled 
Table Talk ; another, called the Progress of Error, was 
shortly composed ; Truth, as a pleasing contrast, followed 
it; this was succeeded by others of equal excellence, proving 
that the poet's mind had now completely emerged from 
that darkness in which it had so long been confined by his 
depressive malady. 

It is interesting to observe, that Cowper's poems were 
almost invariably composed at the suggestion of friends. 
He wrote hymns, to oblige Mr. Newton ; translated Madam 
Guyon's songs, to gratify his friend Mr. Bull, and com- 

h 2 



100 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

posed the greater part of his poems, to please Mrs. Unwin. 
The influence of friendship on his tender mind, was power- 
fully affecting ; and he ever regarded it as his happiest in- 
spiration. It kindled the warmth of his heart, into a flame, 
intense and ardent, stimulated into activity the rich, but 
dormant powers of his mind, and produced those bursts of 
poetic feeling and beauty, which abound in his unrivalled 
compositions. 

Cowper regained his admirable talent for composition, 
both in poetry and in prose, and renewed his correspon- 
dence with some of his more intimate friends, long before 
his mind was wholly convalescent ; and his letters, written 
at this period, afford the best clue to the painful peculiari- 
ties of his case. On every other subject but that of his 
own feelings, his remarks are in the highest degree pleasing ; 
and there was often a sprightliness and vivacity about 
them, that seemed to indicate a state of mind at the re- 
remotest distance from painful ; but whenever he adverted 
to his own case, it was in a tone the most plaintive and 
melancholy. 

Immediately after the removal of his esteemed friends, 
Mr. and Mrs. Newton, he commenced a correspondence 
with them, which he regularly kept up during almost the 
whole of his life. To Mrs. Newton, soon after this event, 
he thus describes his feelings on the occasion. " The vicar- 
age-house became a melancholy object as soon as Mr. New- 
ton had left it ; when you left it, it became more melancholy ; 
now it is actually occupied by another family, I cannot 
even look at it without being shocked. As I walked 
in the garden last evening, I saw the smoke issue from 
the study chimney, and said to myself, that used to be 
a sign that Mr. Newton was there ; but it is so no longer. 
The walls of the house know nothing of the change that 
has taken place, the bolt of the chamber door sounds 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 101 

just as it used to do, and when Mr. P goes up stairs, 

for aught I know, or ever shall know, the fall of his foot can 
hardly perhaps, be distinguished from that of Mr. Newton. 
But Mr. Newton's foot will never be heard upon that stair- 
case again. These reflections, and such as these, occurred 
to me on this occasion. If I were in a condition to leave 
Olney, I certainly would not stay in it. It is no attach- 
ment to the place that binds me here, but an unfitness for 
every other. I lived in it once, but now I am buried in it, 
and have no business with the world on the outside of my 
sepulchre ; my appearance would startle them, and theirs 
would be shocking to me." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 3d May, 1780, he thus writes, 
"You indulge me in such a variety of subjects, and allow 
me such a latitude of excursion, in this scribbling employ- 
ment, that I have no excuse for silence. I am much 
obliged to you for swallowing such boluses, as I send you, 
for the sake of my gilding, and verily believe, I am the only 
man alive, from whom they would be welcome, to a palate 
like yours. I wish I could make them more splendid than 
they are, more alluring to the eye, at least, if not more 
pleasing to the taste, but my leaf-gold is tarnished, and has 
received such a tinge from the vapours that are ever brood- 
ing over my mind, that I think it no small proof of your 
partiality to me, that you will read my letters. If every 
human being upon earth could think for one quarter of an 
hour, as I have thought for many years, there might per- 
haps be many miserable men among them, but not one un- 
awakened one would be found, from the Arctic to the An tar- 
tic circle. At present, the difference between them and me, 
is greatly to their advantage. I delight in baubles, and 
know them to be so, for rested in, and viewed without a 
reference to their author, what is the earth, what are the 
planets, what is the sun itself, but a bauble ? Better for 



102 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEIL 



a man never to have seen them, or to see them with the 
eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what he beholds, 
than not to be able to say, u The maker of all these wonders 
is my friend !" Their eyes have never been opened, to see 
that they are trifles, mine have been, and will be, till they 
are closed for ever." 

" T live in a world abounding with incidents, upon which 
many grave, and perhaps some profitable observations, 
might be made; but these incidents never reaching my 
unfortunate ears, both the entertaining narrative, and the 
reflections it might suggest, are to me annihilated and lost. 
I look back on the past week, and say, what did it pro- 
duce ? I ask the same question of the week preceding, 
and duly receive the same answer from both — nothing ! 
A situation like this, in which I am as unknown to the 
world, as I am ignorant of all that passes in it — in which I 
have nothing' to do but to think, would exactly suit me, 
were my subjects of meditation as agreeable as my leisure 
is uninterrupted : my passion for retirement is not at all 
abated, after so many years spent in the most sequestered 
state, but rather increased ; a circumstance, I should esteem 
wonderful, to a degree not to be accounted for, consider- 
ing the condition of my mind, did I not know that we 
think as we are made to think, and of course, approve and 
prefer, as Providence, who appoints the bounds of our habi- 
tation, chooses for us. Thus, I am both free, and a prisoner 
at the same time. The world is before me ; I am not shut 
up in the Bastile ; there are no moats about my castle, 
no locks upon my gates, of which I have not the keys ; but 
an invisible, uncontroulable agency, a local attachment, an 
inclination, more forcible than I ever felt, even to the 
place of my birth, serves me for prison walls, and for 
bounds, which I cannot pass. In former years I have 
known sorrow, and before I had ever tasted of spiritual 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 103 

trouble. The effect was, an abhorrence of the scene in 
which I had suffered so much, and a weariness of those 
objects which I had so long looked at with an eye of des- 
pondency and dejection. But it is otherwise with me now. 
The same cause subsisting, and in a much more powerful 
degree, fails to produce its natural effect. The very stones 
in the garden walls, are my intimate acquaintance. I 
should miss almost the minutest object, and be disagreea- 
bly affected by its removal, and am persuaded, that were it 
possible I could leave this incommodious nook for a 
twelvemonth, I should return to it again with raptures, and 
be transported with the sight of objects, which, to all the 
world beside, would be, at least indifferent; some of them, 
perhaps, such as the ragged thatch, and the tottering walls, 
disgusting. But so it is, and it is so, because here is to be 
my abode, and because such is the appointment of Him 
who placed me in it. It is the place of all the world I love 
the most, not for any happiness it affords me, but because 
here I can be miserable with most convenience to myself, 
and with least disturbance to others." 

In a letter to Mrs. Unwin's son, with whom he had now 
commenced a correspondence, he thus describes his feel- 
ings. " So long as I am pleased with an employment, I 
am capable of unwearied application, because my feelings 
are all of the intense kind ; I never received a little plea- 
sure from anything in my life ; if I am delighted, it is in the 
extreme. The unhappy consequences of this temperature 
is, that my attachment to my occupation seldom outlives 
the novelty of it, That nerve of my imagination that 
feels the touch of any particular amusement, twangs under 
the energy of the pressure with so much vehemence, that 
it soon becomes sensible of weariness and fatigue." 

Writing to Mr. Newton, 12th July, 1780, he thus again 
adverts to his own case. " Such nights as I frequently 



104 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

spend, are but a miserable prelude to the succeeding day, 
and indispose me, above all things, to the business of 
writing. Yet with a pen in my hand, if I am able to write 
at all, I find myself gradually relieved ; and as I am glad 
of any employment that may serve to engage my attention, 
so especially I am pleased with an opportunity of convers- 
ing with you, though it be but upon paper. This occupa- 
tion, above all others, assists me in that self-deception, to 
which I am indebted for all the little comfort I enjoy; 
things seem to be as they were, and I almost forget that 
they can never be so again. If I have strength of mind, I 
have not strength of body for the task, which, you say 
some would impose upon me. I cannot bear much think- 
ing. The meshes of that fine net-work, the brain, are 
composed of such mere spinner's threads in me, that when 
a long thought finds its way, into them, it buzzes, and 
twangs, and bustles about, at such a rate, as seems to 
threaten the whole contexture/' 

To the same correspondent he writes on another occasion. 
" Your sentiments, with respect to me, are exactly like 
Mrs. Unwin's. She, like you, is perfectly sure of my de- 
liverance, and often tells me so ; I make herbut one answer, 
and sometimes none at all. That answer gives her no 
pleasure, and would give you as little ; therefore, at this time 
I suppress it. It is better on every account that they who 
interest themselves so deeply in that event, should believe 
the certainty of it, than that they should not. It is a 
comfort to them, at least, if it be none to me, and as I could 
not, if I would, so neither would I, if I could, deprive them 
of it. If human nature may be compared to a piece of 
tapestry, (and why not ?) when human nature, as it sub- 
sists in me, though it is sadly faded on the right side, re- 
tains all its colour on the wrong. At this season of the 
year, and in this gloomy and uncomfortable climate, it is no 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 105 

easy matter for the owner of a mind like mine, to divert it 
from sad subjects, and fix it upon such as may administer 
to its amusement. Poetry, above all things, is useful to me, 
in this respect. While I am held in pursuit of pretty images, 
or a pretty way of expressing them, I forget every thing 
that is irksome, and, like a boy that plays truant, determine 
to avail himself of the present opportunity to be amused, 
regardless of future consequences. It will not be long per- 
haps, before you will receive a poem, called the Progress of 
Error; that will be succeeded by another, indue time, 
called Truth. Dont be alarmed. I ride Pegasus with a 
curb. He will never runaway with me again. I have even 
convinced Mrs. Unwin, that I can manage him, and make 
him stop, when I please." 

On another occasion he gives the following curious and 
playful description of himself. " I can compare this mind 
of mine to nothing that resembles it more, than to a board, 
that is under the carpenter's plane, (I mean while I am 
writing to you) the shavings are my uppermost thoughts ; 
after a few strokes of the tool, it acquires a new surface ; 
this again, upon a repetition of his task, he takes off, and a 
new surface still succeeds. Whether the shavings of the 
present day, will be worth your acceptance, I know not ; 
I am, unfortunately, made neither of cedar nor of mahogany, 
but Tr uncus ficulnus, inutile lignum, consequently, though I 
should be planed till I am as thin as a wafer, it will be 
but rubbish at last." 

To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he thus plaintively des- 
cribes his feelings: — " My days steal away silently, and: ^ 
march on, (as poor mad Lear would have made his soldiers 
march) as if they were shod with felt ; not so silently but 
that I hear them, yet were it not that I am always listen- ] 
ing to their flight, having no infirmity that I had not J 
when I was much younger, I should deceive myself with 



106 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

an imagination that I am still young. I am fond of 
writing, as an amusement, but do not alwaj^s find it one. 
Being rather scantily furnished with subjects that are good 
for anything, and corresponding only with those who have 
no relish for such as are good for nothing, I often find 
myself reduced to the necessity, the disagreeable necessity, 
of writing about myself. This does not mend the matter 
much; for though, in a description of my own condition, 
I discover abundant materials to employ my pen upon, 
yet as the task is' not very agreeable to me> so, I am suffi- 
ciently aware, that it is likely to prove irksome to others. 
A painter, who should confine himself, in the exercise of 
his art, to the drawing of his own picture, must be a won- 
derful coxcomb indeed, if he did not soon grow sick of his 
occupation, and be peculiarly fortunate if he did not make 
others as sick as himself." 

Notwithstanding Cowper's depressive malady, yet his 
views of religion, even at that period, remained unaltered, 
and were as much distinguished for their excellence as 
ever. Writing to his friend, Mr. Unwin, the following 
judicious remarks occur, respecting keeping the sabbath : 
— u With respect to the advice you are required to give to 
a young lady, that she may be properly instructed in the 
manner of keeping the sabbath, I just subjoin a few hints 
that have occurred to me on the occasion. I think the 
sabbath may be considered, first, as a commandment, no 
less binding upon Christians than upon Jews. The spi- 
ritual people among them did not think it enough, merely 
to abstain from manual occupations on that day, but en- 
tering more deeply into the meaning of the precept, al- 
lotted those hours, they took from the world, to the culti- 
vation of holiness in their own souls ; which ever was, and 
ever will be, incumbent upon all, who have the Scripture in 
their hands, and is of perpetual obligation, both upon 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 107 

Jews and Christians; the commandment enjoins it, and 
the prophets have enforced it; and, in many instances, the 
breach of it has been punished with a providential severity, 
that has made bystanders tremble. Secondly, it may be 
considered as a privilege, which you will know how to 
dilate upon better than I can tell you ; thirdly, as a sign 
of that covenant by which believers are entitled to a rest 
that yet remain eth ; fourthly, as the sine qua non of the 
Christian character, and, upon this head; I should guard 
against being misunderstood to mean no more than two 
attendances upon public worship, which is a form, observed 
by thousands, who never kept a sabbath in their lives. 
Consistence is necessary to give substance and solidity to 
the whole. To sanctify the day at church, and to trifle it 
away out of church, is profanation, and vitiates all. After 
all, I should say to my catechumen, Do you love the day, 
or do you not ? If you love it, you will never enquire how 
far you may safely deprive yourself of the enjoyment of it. 
If you do not love it, and you find yourself in conscience 
obliged to acknowledge it, that is an alarming symptom, 
and ought to make you tremble. If you do not love it, 
then it is a weariness to you, and you wish it over. The 
ideas of labour and rest, are not more opposite to each 
other than the idea of a sabbath, and that dislike and 
disgust, with which it fills the souls of thousands, to be 
obliged to keep it, it is worse than bodily labour." 

To his cousin, Mrs. Cowper, he again writes : — " I know 
not what impressions time may have made upon your 
person, for while his claws, (as our grannams called them), 
strike deep furrows in some faces, he seems to sheath 
them with much tenderness, as if fearful of doing in- 
jury to others. But, though an enemy to the body, he 
is a friend to the mind, and you have doubtless found 
him so. Though, even in this respect, his treatment 



108 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



of us depends upon what he meets with at our hands, 
if we use him well, and listen to his admonitions, he is 
a friend indeed ; but otherwise, the worst of enemies, 
who takes from us daily, something that we valued, and 
gives us nothing better in its stead. It is well with them, 
who, like you, can stand a tip- toe on the mountain top of 
human life, look down with pleasure upon the valley they 
have passed, and sometimes -stretch their wings in joyful 
hope of a happy flight into eternity. Yet a little while, 
and your hope will be accomplished. The course of a 
rapid river is the justest of all emblems, to express the 
variableness of our scene below. Shakespeare says, none 
ever bathed himself twice in the same stream ; and it is 
equally true, that the world upon which we close our eyes 
at night, is never the same as that upon which we open 
them in the morning." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 109 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Makes preparations for publishing his first volume — Reasons assigned 
for it — Beneficial effects of composition on his mind — His com- 
parative indifference to the success of his volume — Great care, ne- 
vertheless, with which he composed it — His readiness to avail 
himself of the assistance and advice of his friends — The interest 
which Mr. Newton took in his publication — Writes the preface for 
the volume — Cowper's judicious reply to some objections that had 
been made to it — Publication of the volume — Manner in which it 
was received — Continuance of Cowper's depression — State of his 
mind respecting religion — His warm attachment to the leading 
truths of the gospel — Ardent desires to make his volume the means 
of conveying them to others. 

More than seven years had now elapsed since the com- 
mencement of Cowper's distressing malady ; and though 
he was not yet perfectly recovered, he had, at length, gra- 
dually acquired the full exercise of those mental powers 
for which he was so highly distinguished. Having now 
employed his muse, with the happiest effect, for nearly 
two years, he had composed a sufficient number of lines 
to form a respectable volume. Mrs. Unwin had wit- 
nessed with delight the productions of his pen, and she 
now wisely urged him to make them public. He was, at 
first, exceedingly averse to the measure ; but, after 
some consideration, he at length yielded to her sugges- 
tions, and made preparations to appear as an author. His 
letters to his correspondents on the subject are highly in- 
teresting ; and afford a full developement of the design he 



HO THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

had in view in appearing before the public. To Mr. 
Unwin he thus writes : — " Your mother says I must write, 
and must admits of no apology ; I might otherwise plead 
that I have nothing to say, that I am weary, that I am 
dull, that it would be more convenient for you, as well as 
for myself, that I should let it alone. But all these pleas, 
and whatever pleas besides, either disinclination, indolence, 
or necessity, might suggest, are overruled, as they ought to 
be, the moment a lady adduces her irrefragable argument, 
you must. Urged by her entreaties, I have at length sent a 
volume to the press; the greater part of it is the produce 
of the last winter. Two-thirds of the volume will be oc- 
cupied by four pieces. It contains, in all, about two thou- 
sand five hundred lines; and will be known, in due time, by 
the names of Table Talk, The Progress of Error, Truth, 
Expostulation, with an addition of some smaller poems, all 
of which, I believe, have passed under your notice. Alto- 
gether they will furnish a volume of tolerable bulk, that 
need not be indebted to an intolerable breadth of margin, 
for the importance of its figure." 

In this undertaking he was encouraged by his friend, 
Mr. Newton, with whom he corresponded on the subject, 
and to whom he thus discloses his mind : — " If a board of 
enquiry were to be established, at which poets were to 
undergo an examination respecting the motives that in- 
duced them to publish, and I were to be summoned to 
attend, that I might give an account of mine, I think I 
could truly say, what perhaps few poets could, that though 
I have no objection to lucrative consequences, if any such 
should follow, they are not my aim ; much less is it my 
ambition to exhibit myself to the world as a genius. What 
then, says Mr. President, can possibly be your motive ? I 
answer, with a bow, amusement. There is no occupation 
within the compass of my small sphere, poetry excepted, 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1 1 1 

that can do much towards diverting that train of melan- 
choly forebodings, which, when I am not thus employed, 
are for ever pouring themselves in upon me. And if I did 
not publish what I write, I could not interest myself suffi- 
ciently in my own success to make an amusement of it. 
My own amusement, however, is not my sole motive. I 
am merry that I may decoy people into my company, and 
grave that they may be the better for it. Now and then I 
put on the garb of a philosopher, and take the opportunity 
that disguise procures me, to drop a word in favour of re- 
ligion. In short, there is some froth, and here and there a 
bit of sweet-meat, which seems to entitle it justly to the 
name of a certain dish the ladies call a trifle. I did not 
choose to be more facetious, lest I should consult the taste 
of my readers at the expence of my own approbation; nor 
more serious than I have been, lest I should forfeit theirs. 
A poet in my circumstances has a difficult part to act ; one 
minute obliged to bridle his humour, if he has any, the 
next, to clap a spur to the sides of it. Now ready to weep, 
from a sense of the importance of his subject, and on a 
sudden constrained to laugh, lest his gravity should be 
mistaken for dulness." 

Writing to his amiable correspondent, Mrs. Cowper, 
19th October, 1781, he says : — " I am preparing a volume 
of poems for the press, which I imagine will make its ap- 
pearance in the course of the winter. It is a bold under- 
taking at this time of day, when so many writers of the 
greatest abilities have gone before, who seem to have an- 
ticipated every valuable subject, as well as all the graces 
of poetical embellishment, to step forth into the world in 
the character of a bard ; especially when it is considered 
that luxury, idleness, and vice, have debauched the public 
taste^nd that scarcely anything but childish fiction, or 
what has a tendency to excite a laugh, is welcome. I 



112 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

thought, however, that I had stumbled upou some subjects 
that had never been poetically treated, and upon some 
others, to which I imagined it would not be difficult to 
give an air of novelty, by the manner of treating them. 
My sole drift is to be useful ; a point which, however, I 
knew I should in vain aim at, unless I could be likewise 
entertaining. I have therefore fixed these two strings to 
my bow ; and by the help of both, have done my best, to 
send my arrow to the mark. My readers will hardly have 
begun to laugh, before they will be called upon to correct 
that levity, and peruse me with a more serious air. I cast 
a side-long glance at the good-liking of the world at large, 
more for the sake of their advantage and instruction than 
their praise. They are children; if we give them physic, 
we must sweeten the rim of the cup with honey. As to 
the effect, I leave that in his hands, who alone can produce 
it ; neither prose, nor verse, can reform the manners of a 
dissolute age, much less can they inspire a sense of reli- 
gious obligation, unless assisted, and made efficacious by 
the power who superintends the truth he has vouchsafed 
to impart." 

To his warm friend, Mr. Hill, he thus amusingly adverts 
to his publication : — "I am in the press, and it is in vain 
to deny it. My labours are principally the production of 
the last winter ; all, indeed, except a few of the minor 
pieces. When I can find no other occupation, I think, 
and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme. Hence 
it comes to pass that the season of the year, which gene- 
rally pinches off the flowers of poetry, unfolds mine, such 
as they are, and crowns me with a winter garland. In this 
respect, therefore, I and my contemporary bards are by no 
means upon a par. They write when the delightful influ- 
ences of fine weather, fine prospects, and a brisk motion of 
the animal spirits, make poetry almost the language of 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1 [3 

nature ; and I, when icicles depend from all the leaves of 
the Parnassian laurel, and when a reasonable man would 
as little expect to succeed in verse, as to hear a black-bird 
whistle. This must be my apology to you, for whatever 
want of fire and animation you may observe in what you 
will shortly have the perusal of. As to the public, if they 
like me not, there is no remedy. A friend will weigh and 
consider all disadvantages, and make as large allowances 
as an author can wish, and larger, perhaps, than he has 
any right to expect, but not so the world at large ; what- 
ever they do not like, they will not by an apology be per- 
suaded to forgive ; it would be in vain to tell them that I 
wrote my verses in January, for they would immediately 
reply, Why did you not write them in May ? A question 
that might puzzle a wiser head than we poets are gene- 
rally blessed with." 

It might have been supposed, that the vigorous exercise 
of the mental powers which the composition of poetry, like 
that of Cowper's, required, would have increased this de- 
pressive malady, instead of diminishing it. His, however, 
was a peculiar case, and he found it of great advantage, as 
we learn in a letter to Mr. Newton, where he says : — " I 
have never found an amusement, among the many that I 
have been obliged to have recourse to, that so well an- 
swered the purpose for which I used it, as composition. 
The quieting and composing effect of it was such, and so 
totally absorbed have I sometimes been in my rhyming 
occupation, that neither the past, nor the future, (those 
themes which to me are so fruitful in regret at other times) 
had any longer a share in my contemplation. For this 
reason I wish, and have often wished since the fit left me, 
that it would seize me again, but hitherto I have wished 
it in vain. I see no want of subjects, but I feel a total 
disability to discuss them. Whether it is thus with other 

1 



114 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 

writers, or not, I am ignorant, but I should suppose my 
case, in this respect, a little peculiar. The voluminous 
writers at least, whose vein of fancy seems always to have 
been rich in proportion to their occasions, cannot have 
been so unlike, and so unequal to themselves. There is 
this difference between my poetship and the generality of 
them; they appear to have been ignorant how much they 
stood indebted to an Almighty power for the exercise of 
those talents they supposed to be their own. Whereas I 
know, and know most perfectly, that my power to think, 
whatever it be, and consequently my power to compose, is, 
as much as my outward form, afforded to me by the same 
hand that makes me, in any respect, differ from a brute." 

The commencement of authorship is generally a period 
of much painful anxiety ; few persons have ventured on 
such an undertaking without experiencing considerable 
excitement ; and in a mind like Cowper's, it might have 
been supposed that such would have been the case in a 
remarkable degree. No person, however, ever ventured 
before the public, in the character of an author, with less 
anxiety. Writing to Mr. Unwin, he says : — " You ask me 
how I feel on the occasion of my approaching publication ? 
Perfectly at ease. If I had not been pretty well assured 
beforehand, that my tranquillity would be but little en- 
dangered by such a measure, I would never have engaged 
in it, for I cannot bear disturbance. I have had in view 
two principal objects; first, to amuse myself, and then to 
compass that point in such a manner, that others might 
possibly be the better for my amusement. If I have suc- 
ceeded, it will give me pleasure ; but if I have failed, I 
shall not be mortified to the degree that might perhaps be 
expected. The critics cannot deprive me of the pleasure I 
have in reflecting, that so far as my leisure has been em- 
ployed in writing for the public, it has been employed 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 115 

conscientiously, and with a view to their advantage. There 
is nothing agreeable, to be sure, in being chronicled for a 
dunce; but I believe there lives not a man upon earth who 
would be less affected by it than myself." 

Indifferent as he was to the result of his publications, 
he was far from being careless in their composition. Per- 
haps no author ever took more pains with his productions, 
or sought more carefully to make them worthy of public 
approbation. In one of his letters, adverting to this sub- 
ject, he says — i( To touch, and retouch, is, though some 
writers boast of negligence, and others would be ashamed 
to show their foul copies, the secret of almost all good 
writing, especially in verse. I am never weary of it myself, 
and if you would take as much pains as I do, you would 
not need to ask for my corrections. With the greatest 
indifference to fame, which you know me too well to sup- 
pose me capable of affecting, I have taken the utmost 
pains to deserve it. This may appear a mystery, or a para- 
dox, in practice, but it is true. I considered that the taste 
of the day is refined, and delicate to excess, and that to 
disgust that delicacy of the taste by a slovenly inattention 
to it, would be to forfeit at once, all hope of being useful ; 
and for this reason, though I have written more verse this 
year than perhaps any man in England, I have finished, 
and polished, and touched and retouched, with the utmost 
care. Whatever faults I may be chargeable with as a 
poet, I cannot accuse myself of negligence ; I never suffer 
a line to pass till I have made it as good as I can ; and 
though some may be offended at my doctrines, I trust none 
will be disgusted by slovenly inaccuracy, in the numbers, 
the rhymes, or the language. If, after all, I should be con- 
verted into waste paper, it may be my misfortune, but it 
will not be my fault ; and I shall bear it with perfect 
serenity." 

i 2 



] 16 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

In the character of Cowper there was nothing like an 
overweening confidence in his own powers. No person 
was ever more willing to avail himself of the advice of his 
friends, nor did any one ever receive advice more grate- 
fully. Not satisfied with bestowing upon his productions 
the greatest pains himself, he occasionally submitted 
them to the correction of others, and his correspondence 
affords many proofs of his readiness to profit by the 
slightest hint. To Mr. Newton he thus writes : " I am 
much obliged to you for the pains you have taken with my 
poems, and for the manner in which you have interested 
yourself in their appearance. Your favourable opinion 
affords me a comfortable presage with respect to that of 
the public ; for though I make allowance for your parti- 
ality to me, yet I am sure you would not suffer me, unad- 
monished, to add myself to the number of insipid rhymers 
with whose productions the world is already too much 
pestered. I forgot to mention, that Johnson uses the dis- 
cretion my poetship has allowed him, with much discern- 
ment. He has suggested several alterations, or rather 
marked several defective passages, which I have corrected ; 
much to the advantage of the poems. In the last sheet 
he sent me, he noticed three such, which I reduced to 
better order. In the foregoing sheet I assented to his criti- 
cisms in some instances, and chose to abide by the original 
expression in others ; whenever he has marked such lines 
as did not please him, I have, as often as I could, paid all 
possible respect to his animadversions. Thus we jog on 
together comfortably enough ; and perhaps it would be as 
well for authors in general, if their booksellers, when men 
of some taste, were allowed, though not to tinker the work 
themselves, yet to point out the flaws, and humbly to re- 
commend an improvement. I have also to thank you, and 
ought to have done it in the first place, for having recom- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. l ] 7 

mended to me the suppression of some lines, which I am 
now more than ever convinced, would at least have done 
me no honour." 

The great interest Mr. Newton took in Cowper's pub- 
lication, induced the poet to request him to compose the 
preface ; and his correspondence with Mr. Newton on the 
subject is alike honourable to his judgment and his feel- 
ings; and affords a striking display of the strong hold 
which religion had upon his affections. He thus introduces 
the subject to Mr. Newton, " With respect to the poem 
called Truth, it is so true that it can hardly fail of giving 
offence to an unenlightened reader. I think, therefore, 
that in order to obviate in some measure those prejudices 
that will naturally erect their bristles against it, an ex- 
planatory preface, such as you, (and nobody else so well 
as you) can furnish me with, will have every grace of pro- 
priety to recommend it ; or if you are not averse to the 
task, and your avocations will allow you to undertake it, and 
if you think it will be still more proper, I should be glad 
to be indebted to you for a preface to the whole. I admit 
that it will require much delicacy, but am far from appre- 
hending that you will rind it difficult to succeed. You 
can draw a hair-stroke, where another man would make 
a blot, as broad as a sixpence." 

The preface composed by Mr. Newton, though it was in 
the highest degree satisfactory to Cowper, and was ad- 
mitted by him to be every thing that he could wish, was 
nevertheless thought by others to be of too sombre a cast, 
to introduce a volume of poems, pre-eminently distinguished 
for their vivacity and eloquence. Adverting to this objec- 
tion, and to the suggestion of the publisher to suppress it, 
Cowper thus writes : — " If the men of the world are so 
merrily disposed, in the midst of a thousand calamities, 
that they will not deign to read a preface, of three or four 



] 18 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWrER. 

pages, because the purport of it is serious, they are far 
gone, indeed, in the last stage of a frenzy. I am, however, 
willing to hope, that such is not the case ; curiosity is an 
universal passion. There are few persons who think a 
book worth reading, but feel a desire to know something 
about the writer of it. This desire will naturally lead 
them to peep into the preface, where they will soon find, 
that a little perseverance will furnish them with some in- 
formation on the subject. If therefore your preface finds 
no readers, I shall take it for granted that it is, because the 
book itself is accounted not worth their notice. Be that 
as it may, it is quite sufficient that I have played the 
antic myself for their diversion ; and that, in a state of 
dejection such as they are absolute strangers to, I have 
sometimes put on an air of cheerfulness and vivacity, to 
which I myself am in reality a stranger, for the sake of 
winning their attention to more useful matter. I cannot 
endure the thought, for a moment, that you should descend 
to my level on the occasion, and court their favour in a 
style not more unsuitable to your function, than to the 
constant and consistent strain of your whole character 
and conduct. Though your preface is of a serious cast, it 
is free from all offensive peculiarities, and contains none 
of those obnoxious doctrines at which the world is too apt 
to be angry. It asserted nothing more than every rational 
creature must admit to be true — that divine and earthly 
things can no longer stand in competition with each other, 
in the judgment of any man, than while he continues 
ignorant of their respective value ; and that the moment 
the eyes are opened, the latter are always cheerfully re- 
linquished for the former. It is impossible for me however 
to be so insensible to your kindness in writing the preface, 
as not to be desirous of defying all contingencies, rather 
than entertain a wish to suppress it. It will do me honour, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. H9 

indeed, in the eyes of those whose good opinion is worth 
having, and if it hurts me in the estimation of others I can- 
not help it ; the fault is neither yours, nor mine, but theirs. 
If a minister's is a more splendid character than a poet's, 
and I think nobody that understands their value can 
hesitate in deciding that question, then undoubtedly, the 
advantage of having our names united in the same volume, 
is all on my side." 

Cowper's first volume was published in the spring of 
1782. Its success, at first, fell far short of what might 
have been anticipated from its extraordinary merit. It 
was not long, however, before the more intelligent part of 
the reading public appreciated its value. It soon found its 
way into the hands of all lovers of literature. Abounding 
with some of the finest passages that are to be met with, 
either in antient or modern poetry, it was impossible that it 
should remain long unnoticed. By mere readers of taste, 
it was read for the beauty and elegance of its composi- 
tion ; by many, it was eagerly sought after for the spright- 
liness, vivacity, and wit, with which it abounded : — by 
Christians, of all denominations, it was read with unfeigned 
pleasure, for the striking and beautiful descriptions it con- 
tained, of doctrinal, practical, and experimental Christi- 
anity. 

Tt would scarcely be supposed that the author of a 
volume of poems like this, exhibiting such a diversity of 
powers as could not fail to charm the mind, delight the 
imagination, and improve the heart, could have remained, 
during the whole time he was composing it, in a state of 
great and painful depression. Such however was the 
peculiarity of Cowper's malady, that a train of melancholy 
thoughts seemed ever to be pouring themselves in upon 
his mind, which neither himself nor his friends were ever 
able to account for, satisfactorily. Writing to his friend 



120 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Mr. Newton, who had recently paid him a visit, he thus 
discloses the state of his mind : — " My sensations at your 
departure were far from pleasant. When we shall meet 
again, and in what circumstances, or whether we shall 
meet or not, is an article to be found no where but in that 
providence which belongs to the current year, and will 
not be understood till it is accomplished. This I know, 
that your visit was most agreeable to me, who, though I 
live in the midst of many agreeables, am but little sensible 
of their charms. But when you came, I determined, as 
much as possible, to be deaf to the suggestions of despair; 
that if I could contribute but little to the pleasure of the 
opportunity, I might not dash it with unseasonable melan- 
choly, and like an instrument with a broken string, inter- 
rupt the harmony of the concert." 

It is gratifying to observe, that neither the attention 
which Cowper paid to his publication, nor the depressive 
malady with which he was afflicted, could divert his atten- 
tion from the all-important concerns of religion. A tone 
of deep seriousness, and genuine Christian feeling, per- 
vades many of his letters written about this time. To 
Mr. Newton he thus writes : — " You wish you could employ 
your time to better purpose, yet are never idle, in all 
that you do ; whether you are alone, or pay visits, or re- 
ceive them; whether you think or write, or walk, or sit 
still, the state of your mind is such as discovers even to 
yourself, in spite of all its wanderings, that there is a prin- 
ciple at the bottom, whose determined tendency is towards 
the best things. I do not at all doubt the truth of what 
you say, when you complain of that crowd of trifling 
thoughts that pesters you without ceasing ; but then you 
always have a serious thought standing at the door of your 
imagination, like a justice of the peace, with the Riot Act 
in his hand, ready to read it and disperse the mob. Here 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 121 

lies the difference between you and me. You wish for 
more attention, I for less. Dissipation itself would be 
welcome to me, so it were not a vicious one ; but however 
earnestly invited, it is coy and keeps at a distance. Yet 
with all this distressing gloom upon my mind, I experience, 
as you do, the slipperiness of the present hour, and the 
rapidity with which time escapes me. Every thing around 
us, and every thing that befals us, constitues a variety, 
which, whether agreeable or otherwise, has still a thievish 
propensity ; and steals from us days, months, and years, 
with such unparalleled suddeness, that even while we say 
they are here, they are gone. From infancy to manhood, 
is rather a tedious period, chiefly, I suppose, because at 
that time, we act under the controul of others, and are 
not suffered to have a will of our own. But thence down- 
ward into the vale of years, is such a declivity, that we 
have just an opportunity to reflect upon the steepness of it 
and then find ourselves at the bottom." 

The following extracts from his correspondence with Mr. 
Unwin, who at that time, was on a visit at Brighthelmstone, 
will show the deep tone of seriousness that pervaded his 
mind : — " I think with you, that the most magnificent 
object under heaven is the great deep ; and cannot but feel 
an unpolite species of astonishment, when I consider the 
multitudes that view it without emotion, and even without 
reflection. In all its varied forms, it is an object, of all 
others, the most suitable to affect us with lasting impres- 
sions of the awful power that created and controuls it. I 
am the less inclined to think this negligence excusable, 
because, at a time of life, when I gave as little attention to 
religion as any man, I yet remember that the waves would 
preach to me, and that in the midst of worldy dissipation 
I had an ear to hear them. In the fashionable amuse- 
ments which you will probably witness for a time, you 



122 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

will discern no signs of sobriety, or true wisdom. But it 
is impossible for a man who has a mind like yours, capable 
of reflection, to observe the manners of a multitude with- 
out learning something. If he sees nothing to imitate, he 
is sure to see something to avoid. If nothing to con- 
gratulate his fellow-creatures upon, at least much to excite 
his compassion. There is not, I think, so melancholy a 
sight in the world, (an hospital is not to be compared to it), 
as that of a multitude of persons, distinguished by the 
name of gentry, who, gentle perhaps by nature, and made 
more gentle by education, have the appearance of being 
innocent and inoffensive, yet being destitute of all religion, 
or not at all governed by the religion they profess, are 
none of them at any great distance from an eternal state, 
where self-deception will be impossible, and where amuse- 
ments cannot enter. Some of them we may hope will be 
reclaimed, it is most probable that many will, because 
mercy, if one may be allowed the expression, is fond of 
distinguishing itself by seeking its objects among the most 
desperate class ; but the Scripture gives no encouragement 
to the warmest charity, to expect deliverance for them all. 
When I see an afflicted and unhappy man, I say to my- 
self, there is perhaps a man, whom the world would envy, 
if they knew the value of his sorrows, which are possibly 
intended only to soften his heart, and to turn his affections 
towards their proper centre. But when I see, or hear of a 
crowd of voluptuaries, who have no ears but for music, no 
eyes but for splendour, and no tongues but for imperti- 
nence and folly — I say, or at least I see occasion to say, 
this is madness — this, persisted in, must have a tragical 
conclusion. It will condemn you, not only as Christians, 
unworthy of the name, but as intelligent creatures — you 
know by the light of nature, if you have not quenched ir, 
that there is a God, and that a life like yours cannot be 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 123 

according to his will. I ask no pardon of you for the 
gravity and gloominess of these reflections, which, with 
others of a similar complexion, are sure to occur to me 
when I think of a scene of public diversion like that you 
have witnessed.'' 

The following remarks, extracted from a letter to the 
same correspondent, while they serve to display the state 
of his mind respecting religion, exhibit at the same time, 
the high value which he set upon the leading truths of 
the gospel : — " When I wrote the poem on Truth, it was 
indispensably necessary that I should set forth that doctrine 
which I know to be true ; and that I should pass, what I un- 
derstood to be a just censure, upon opinions and persuasions 
that stand in direct opposition to it ; because, though some 
errors may be innocent, and even religious errors are not 
always dangerous, yet in a case where the faith and hope 
of a Christian are concerned, they must necessarily be 
destructive ; and because neglecting this, I should have 
betrayed my subject; either suppressing what in my judge- 
ment is of the last importance, or giving countenance by 
a timid silence, to the very evils it was my design to com- 
bat. That you may understand me better, I will subjoin ; 
that I wrote that poem on purpose to inculcate the eleemo- 
synary character of the gospel, as a dispensation of mercy, 
in the most absolute sense of the word, to the exclusion 
of all claims of merit on the part of the receiver ; conse- 
quently to set the brand of invalidity upon the plea of 
works, and to discover, upon scriptural ground, the ab- 
surdity of that notion, which includes a solecism in the 
very terms of it, that man by repentance and good works, 
may deserve the mercy of his Maker. I call it a solecism, 
because mercy deserved ceases to be mercy, and must take 
the name of justice. This is the opinion which I said, in 
my last, the world would not acquiesce in, but except this, 



124 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

I do not recollect that I have introduced a syllable into 
any of my pieces, that they can possibly object to ; and 
even this I have endeavoured to deliver from doctrinal 
dryness, by as many pretty things, in the way of trinket 
and plaything, as I could muster upon the subject. So that 
if I have rubbed their gums, 1 have taken care to do it 
with a coral, and even that coral embellished by the ribbon 
to which it is attached, and recommended by the tinkling 
of all the bells I could contrive to annex to it." 

The following beautiful lines convey sentiments so much 
in unison with this extract, that we cannot forbear to insert 
them at the close of this chapter : — 

" I am no preacher ; let this hint suffice, 
The cross once seen is death to every vice ; 
Else he that hung there suffered all his pain, 
Bled, groaned, and agonized, and died in vain. 
There, and there only, (though the deist rave, 
And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave,) 
There, and there only, is the power to save ; 
There no delusive hope invites despair, 
No mockery meets you, no deception there, 
The spells and charms that blinded you before, 
All vanish there, and fascinate no more." 

Progress of Error, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. \2l 



CHAPTER IX. 

Commencement of Cowper's acquaintance with Lady Austin — Pleasure 
it afforded him — Poetic epistle to her — Her removal to Olney — 
Beneficial influence of her conversational powers on Cowper's 
mind — Occasion of his writing John Gilpin — Lines composed 
at Lady Austin's request — Induced by her to commence writing 
The Task — Principal object he had in view in composing it — 
Sudden and final separation from Lady Austin — Occasional seve- 
rity of his depressive malady — Hopes entertained by his friends of 
his ultimate recovery — His own opinion upon it — Pleasing proofs 
of the power of religion on his mind — Tenderness of his conscience 
— Serious reflections — Aversion to religious deception and pre- 
tended piety — Bigotry and intolerance, with their opposite vices, 
levity and indifference, deplored — Sympathy with the sufferings of 
the poor — Enviable condition of such of them as are pious, com- 
pared with the rich who disregard religion. 

In the autumn of 1781, Cowper became acquainted with 
Lady Austin, whose brilliant wit and unrivalled conversa- 
tional powers, were admirably adapted to afford relief to a 
mind like his. This lady was introduced to the retired 
poet by her sister, the wife of a clergyman, who resided at 
Clifton, a mile distant from Olney, and who occasionally 
called upon Mrs. Unwin. Lady Austin came to pass some 
time with her sister, in the summer of 1781, and Mrs. 
Unwin, at Cowper's request, invited the ladies to tea. So 
much, however, was he averse to the company of strangers, 
that after he had occasioned the invitation, it was with 
considerable reluctance he was persuaded to join the party ; 
but having at length overcome his feelings, he entered 



]26 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

freely into conversation with Lady Austin, and derived so 
much benefit from her sprightly and animating discourse, 
that he from that time cultivated her acquaintance with 
the greatest attention. 

The opinion Cowper formed of this accomplished and 

talented lady, may be ascertained by the following extracts 

from his letters : — " Lady Austin has paid us her first visit, 

and not content with shewing us that proof of her respect, 

made handsome apologies for her intrusion. She is a 

f lively, agreeable woman ; has seen much of the world, and 

accounts it a great simpleton, as it is. She laughs, and 

\ makes laugh, without seeming to labour at it. She has 

many features in her character which you must admire, 

but one in particular, on account of the rarity of it, will 

engage your attention and esteem. She has a degree of 

gratitude in her composition, so quick a sense of obligation, 

^as is hardly to be found in any rank of life. Discover but 

/ a wish to please her, and she never forgets it ; not only 

I thanks you, but the tears will start into her eyes at the re- 

■V- collection of the smallest service. With these fine feelings 

she has the most harmless vivacity you can imagine : half 

an hour's conversation with her will convince you that she 

is one of the most intelligent, pious, and agreeable ladies 

you ever met with." 

The following lines, part of a poetical epistle, addressed 
by Cowper to Lady Austin, will shew how much he was 
delighted with his new friend : — 

" Dear Anna, — between friend and friend 
Prose answers every common end ; 
Serves, in a plain and homely way, 
To express the occurrence of the day, 
Our health, the weather, and the news, 
What walks we take, what books we choose, 
And all the floating thoughts we find 
Upon the surface of the mind. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 127 

But when a poet takes the pen, 

Far more alive than other men, 

He feels a gentle tingling come 

Down to his fingers and his thumb, 

Deriv'd from nature's noblest part, 

The centre of a glowing heart ! 

And this is what the world, who knows 

No flights above the pitch of prose, 

His more sublime vagaries slighting, 

Denominates an itch for writing. 

No wonder I, who scribble rhyme 

To catch the triflers of the time, 

And tell them truths divine and clear, 

Which couched in prose they will not hear, 

Should feel that itching and that tingling 

With all my purpose intermingling, 

To your intrinsic merit true, 

When call'd to address myself to you. 

Mysterious are His ways whose power 

Brings forth that unexpected hour, 

When minds that never met before 

Shall meet, unite, and part no more : 

It is the allotment of the skies, 

The hand of the supremely wise, 

That guides and governs our affections, 

And plans and orders our connections, 

Directs us in our distant road, 

And marks the bounds of our abode. 

This page of Providence quite new, 

And now just opening to our view, 

Employs our present thoughts and pains, 

To guess and spell what it contains ; 

But day by day, and year by year, 

Will make the dark enigma clear, 

And furnish us, perhaps, at last, 

Like other scenes already past, 

With proof that we and our affairs 

Are part of a Jehovah's cares : 

For God unfolds by slow degrees 

The purport of his deep decrees, 



128 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Sheds every hour a clearer light, 

In aid of our defective sight, 

And spreads, at length, before the soul, 

A beautiful and perfect whole, 

Which busy man's inventive brain 

Toils to anticipate in vain. 

Say, Anna, had you never known 

The beauties of a rose full blown ; 

Could you, though luminous your eye, 

By looking on the bud descry, 

Or guess, with a prophetic power, 

The future splendour of the flower ? 

Just so the Omnipotent, who turns 

The system of a world's concerns, 

From mere minutiffi can educe 

Events of most important use ; 

And bid a dawning sky display 

The blaze of a meridian day. 

The works of man tend one and all, 

As needs they must, both great and small, 

And vanity absorbs at length 

The monuments of human strength ; 

But who can tell how vast the plan 

Which this day's incident began ? 

Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion 

For our dim-sighted observation ; 

It pass'd unnoticed as the bird 

That cleaves the yielding air unheard, 

And yet may prove, when understood, 

An harbinger of endless good. 

Not that I deem or mean to call 

Friendship a blessing cheap or small, 

But merely to remark that ours, 

Like some of nature's sweetest flowers, 

Rose from a seed of tiny size 

That seemed to promise no such prize : 

A transient visit intervening, 

And made almost without a meaning, 

(Hardly the effect of inclination, 

Much less of pleasing expectation !) 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 129 

Produced a friendship, then begun, 

That has cemented us in one, 

And placed it in our power to prove, 

By long fidelity and love, 

That Solomon has wisely spoken, 

1 A three-fold cord is not soon broken.' " 

Lady Austin was not less delighted with her new ac- 
quaintance than Cowper and Mrs. Unwin were with her. 
She had previously determined to leave London, and had 
been looking out for a residence in the country, not far 
distant from his sister's. The house immediately adjoining 
that in which Cowper resided, was at liberty; she accord- 
ingly hired it, and took possession of it in the course of 
the ensuing summer. Cowper thus adverts to this circum- 
stance, in a letter to Mr. Newton :— "A new scene is open 
ing upon us, which, whether it perform what it promises, 
or not, will add fresh plumes to the wings of time, at least 
while it continues to be a subject of contemplation. Lady 
Austin, very desirous of retirement, especially of a retire- 
ment near her sister, an admirer of Mr. Scot as a preacher, 
and of your two humble servants, myself and Mrs. Unwin, 
is come to a determination to settle here ; and has chosen 
the house formerly occupied by you, for her future resi- 
dence. I am highly pleased with the plan, upon Mrs. 
Unwin's account, who, since Mrs. Newton's departure, has 
been nearly destitute of all female connection, and has 
not, in any emergency, a woman to speak to. It Jias, in 
my view, and I doubt not it will have the same in yours, 
strong marks of a providential interposition. A female 
friend, who bids fair to prove herself worthy of the appel- 
lation, comes, recommended by a variety of considerations, 
to such a place as Olney. Since your removal, there was 
not in the kingdom a retirement more absolutely such than 
ours. We did not covet company, but when it came we 

K 



130 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

found it agreeable. A person that understands the world 
well, has high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of 
conversation, introduces a sprightliness into such a scene 
as this, which, if it was peaceful before, is not the worse 
for being a little enlivened. In case of illness too, to which 
we are all liable, it was rather a gloomy prospect, if we 
allowed ourselves to advert to it, that there was hardly a 
woman in the place from whom it would have been rea- 
sonable to have expected either comfort or assistance. 1 ' 

Preparations were made at the vicarage for the recep- 
tion of Lady Austin, and she took possession of it towards 
the close of 1782. Both Cowper and Mrs. Unwin were so 
charmed with her society, and she was so delighted with 
their's, that it became their custom to dine together, at 
each other's houses, every alternate day. The effect of 
Lady Austin's almost irresistible conversational powers 
proved highly beneficial to the poet's mind, and contri- 
buted to remove that painful depression of which he still 
continued to be the subject; and which would sometimes 
seize him when he was in her company : even with her 
unrivalled talents, she was scarcely able, at times, to re- 
move the deep and melancholy gloom which still shed its 
darkening influence over his mind. On one occasion, 
when she observed him to be sinking into rather an un- 
usual depression, she exerted, as she was invariably accus- 
tomed to do, her utmost ability to afford him immediate 
relief. It occurred to her that she might then probably 
accomplish it, by telling him a story of John Gilpin, which 
she had treasured up in her memory from her childhood. 
The amusing incidents of the story itself, and the happy 
manner in which it was related, had the desired effect ; it 
dissipated the gloom of the passing hour, and he informed 
Lady Austin the next morning, that convulsions of laughter, 
brought on by the recollection of her story, had kept him 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 131 

awake during the greater part of the night, and that he 
had composed a poem on the subject. Hence arose the 
fascinating and amusing ballad of John Gilpin, which ra- 
pidly found its way into all the periodical publications 
of the day, and was admired by readers of every de- 
scription. 

Its happy influence on his own mind on subsequent oc- 
casions is adverted to in the following letter to Mr. 
Unwin : — " You tell me that John Gilpin made you laugh 
tears, and that the ladies at court are delighted with my 
poems. Much good may they do them; may they be- 
come as wise as the writer wishes them, and they will then 
be much happier than he! I know there is, in the greater 
part of the poems which make up the volume, that wisdom 
which cometh from above, because it was from above that 
I received it. May they receive it too ! for whether they 
drink it out of the cistern, or whether it falls upon them 
immediately from the clouds, as it did on me, it is all one. 
It is the water of life, which whosoever drinketh shall 
thirst no more. As to the famous horseman above men- 
tioned, he and his feats are an inexhaustible source of 
amusement. At least we find them so ; and seldom meet 
without refreshing ourselves with the recollection of them. 
You are perfectly at liberty to do with them as you please, 
and when printed send me a copy." 

Lady Austin's intercourse with Mrs. Unwin and Cowper 
continued, uninterrupted, till near the close of 1784; and 
during all this time, by her sprightly, judicious, and cap- 
tivating conversation, she was often the means of rousing 
him from his melancholy depression. To console him, she 
would often exert her musical talents on the harpsichord ; 
and at her request, he composed, among others, the fol- 
lowing beautiful song, suited to airs she was accustomed 
to play: 

k2 



132 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

" No longer I follow a sound, 
No longer a dream I pursue ; 
O, happiness ! not to be found, 
Unattainable treasure, adieu ! 

I have sought thee in splendour and dress, 
In the regions of pleasure and taste ; 
I have sought thee, and seemed to possess, 
But have proved thee a vision at last. 

An humble ambition and hope 
The voice of true wisdom inspires ; 
'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope 
And the summit of all our desires. 

Peace may be the lot of the mind 
That seeks it in meekness and love ; 
But rapture and bliss are confined 
To the glorified spirits above !" 

During the winter of 1783-4 Cowper spent the evenings 
in reading to these ladies, taking the liberty himself, and 
affording the same to them, of making remarks on what 
came under their notice. On these interesting occasions 
Lady Austin displayed her enchanting, and almost magical 
powers, with singular effect. The conversation happened 
one evening to turn on blank verse, of which she had 
always expressed herself to be passionately fond. Per- 
suaded that Cowper was able to produce, in this measure, 
a poem, that would eclipse anything he had hitherto 
written, she urged him to try his powers in that species of 
composition. He had hitherto written only in rhyme, and 
he felt considerable reluctance to make the attempt. After 
repeated solicitations, however, he promised her, if she 
would furnish the subject, he would comply with her 
request. " Oh ! " she replied, " you can never be in want of a 
subject, you can write upon anything; write upon this sofa." 
The poet obeyed her command, and the world is thus in- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 133 

debted to this lady for The Task, a poem of matchless 
beauty and excellence, embracing almost every variety of 
style, and every description of subject, combining elegance 
and ease, with sublimity and grandeur, adapted to impress 
the heart* with sentiments of the most exalted piety, and 
to make its readers happy in the present life, while it ex- 
cites in them earnest and longing desires after the felicity 
and glory of heaven. 

In composing this exquisite poem, however, it ought to 
be observed that Cowper had a higher object in view than 
merely to please Lady Austin. His great aim was to be 
useful ; and, indeed, this was his leading motive in all his 
productions, as is evident from the following extract from a 
letter to Mr. Unwin : — " In some passages of the enclosed 
poem, which I send for your inspection, you will observe 
me very satirical, especially in my second book. Writing 
on such subjects I could not be otherwise. I can write j 
nothing without aiming, at least, at usefulness. It were 
beneath my years to do it, and still more dishonourable to 
to my religion. I know that a reformation of such abuses, 
as I have censured, is not to be expected from the efforts of 
a poet; but to contemplate the world, its follies, its vices, 
its indifference to duty, and its strenuous attachment to 
what is evil, and not to reprehend it, were to approve it. 
From this charge at least I shall be clear, fori have neither 
tacitly, nor expressly, flattered either its characters or its 
customs. My principal purpose has been, to allure the 
reader by character, by scenery, by imagery, and such po- 
etical embellishments, to the reading of what may profit 
him. Subordinately to this, to combat that predilection 
in favour of a metropolis, that beggars and exhausts the 
country, by evacuating it of all its principal inhabitants ; 
and collaterally, and as far as is consistent with this 
double intention, to have a stroke at vice, vanity, and 



134 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER 

folly, wherever I find them. What there is of a religious 
cast, in the volume, I have thrown towards the end of it, 
for two reasons j first, that I might not revolt the reader at 
his entrance; and, secondly, that my best impressions 
might be made last. Were I to write as many volumes as 
Lopez de Vega, or Voltaire, not one of them would be with- 
out this tincture. If the world like it not, so much the 
worse for them. I make all the concessions I can that I 
may please them, but I will not do this at the ex pence of 
my conscience. My descriptions are all from nature, not 
one of them second-handed. My delineations of the heart 
are from my own experience ; not one of them borrowed 
from books, or in the least degree conjectural." 

The close of the year 1784, witnessed the completion of 
this extensive performance, and the commencement of ano- 
ther of greater magnitude, though of a different descrip- 
tion, and less adapted for general usefulness, the transla- 
tion of Homer ; undertaken at the united request of 
of Mrs. Unwin and Lady Austin. This was a remarkable 
period in Cowper's life. Circumstances arose, altogether 
unforeseen by him, and over which he had no control, 
which led to the removal of Lady Austin from Olney. He 
had so often been benefited by her company, had in so 
many instances been cheered by her vivacity when suffering 
under the influence of his depressive malady, and had re- 
ceived such repeated proofs of her affability and kindness, 
that he could not entertain the thought of parting with her 
without considerable disquietude. Immediately, however, on 
perceiving that a separation became requisite for the mainte- 
nance of his own peace, as well as to ensure the tranquillity 
of his faithful and long-tried inmate, Mrs. Unwin, he wisely 
and firmly, took such steps as were necessary to promote 
it, though it was at the expence of much mental anguish. 
Some of Cowper's biographers have, unjustly, and with- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 135 

out the slightest foundation, attempted to cast considerable 
odium upon the character of Mrs. Unwin, for her conduct 
in this affair, as if all the blame of Cowper's separation 
from Lady Austin were to be laid at her door. One has 
even gone so far as to state, that her mind was of such a 
sombre hue, that it rather tended to foster, than to dissi- 
pate, Cowper's melancholy. An assertion utterly incapable 
of proof, and which, were the poet living, he would be the 
first to deny. The fact is, that Cowper never felt any 
other attachment to either of these ladies than that of pure 
friendship, and much as he valued the society of Lady 
Austin, when he found it necessary, for his own peace, to 
choose which he should please to retain, he could not hesi- 
tate for a moment to prefer the individual who had watched 
over him with so much tenderness, and probably to the 
injury of her own health. The whole of his conduct in 
this affair, and indeed, the manner in which he has every- 
where spoken of his faithful inmate, proves this indubitably. 

Aware of the benefit he had received from Lady Austin's 
company, many of his friends were apprehensive that her 
removal would be attended with consequences seriously 
injurious to the poet. Deep, however, as was the impres- 
sion which it made upon his mind, he bore it with much 
more fortitude than could have been expected, as will be 
seen by the manner in which he adverted to it in a letter 
to Mr. Hill : — " We have, as you say, lost a lively and 
sensible neighbour in Lady Austin, but we have been so 
long accustomed to a state of retirement, within one degree 
of solitude, and being naturally lovers of still life, we can 
relapse into our former duality without being unhappy in 
the change. To me, indeed, a third individual is not ne- 
cessary, while I can have the faithful companion I have 
had these twenty years." 

It might be imagined, from the production of Cowper's 



136 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEFL 

pen at this period, that he was entirely recovered from his 
depressive malady, such, however, was far from the case. 
His letters to his correspondents prove, that whatever 
gaiety and vivacity there was in his writings, there was 
nothing in his own state of mind that bore any resemblance 
to such emotions ; but that, on the contrary, his fits of me- 
lancholy were frequent, and often painfully acute. To his 
friend, Mr. Newton, he thus feelingly discloses his pecu- 
liarly painful sensations: — " My heart resembles not the 
heart of a Christian, mourning and yet rejoicing, pierced 
with thorns, yet wreathed about with roses ; I have the 
thorn without the rose. My brier is a wintry one, the 
flowers are withered, but the thorn remains. My days are 
spent in vanity, and it is impossible for me to spend them 
otherwise. No man upon earth is more sensible of the un- 
profitableness of such a life as mine than I am, or groans 
more heavily under the burden ; but this too is vanity ; my 
groans will not bring the remedy, because there is no 
remedy for me. I have been lately more dejected and 
more distressed than usual ; more harassed by dreams in 
the night, and more deeply poisoned by them in the fol- 
lowing day. I know not what is portended by an altera- 
tion for the worse after eleven years of misery ; but firmly 
believe, that it is not designed as the introduction of a 
change for the better. You know not what I suffered while 
you were here, nor was there any need you should. Your 
friendship for me would have made you in some degree a 
partaker of my woes, and your share in them would have 
been increased by your inability to help me. Perhaps, 
indeed, they took a keener edge, from the consideration of 
your presence. The friend of my heart, the person with 
whom I had formerly taken sweet counsel, no longer useful 
to me as a minister, no longer pleasant to me as a Chris- 
tian, was a spectacle that must necessarily add the bitter- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 137 

ness of mortification to the sadness of despair. I now see 
a long winter before me, and am to get through it as I can ; 
I know the ground before I tread upon it. It is hollow ' 7 
it is agitated ; it suffers shocks in every direction ; it is 
like the soil of Calabria— all whirlpool and undulation ; but 
I must reel through it, at least if I be not swallowed up 
by the way. I have taken leave of the old year, and 
parted with it just when you did, but with very different 
sentiments and feelings upon the occasion. I looked back 
upon all the passages and occurrences of it as a traveller 
looks back upon a wilderness, through which he has passed 
with weariness and sorrow of heart, reaping no other fruit 
of his labour than the poor consolation, that, dreary as the 
desert was, he left it all behind him. The traveller would 
find even this comfort considerably lessened, if, as soon as 
he passed one wilderness, he had to traverse another of 
equal length, and equally desolate. In this particular his 
experience and mine would exactly tally. I should rejoice 
indeed that the old year is over and gone, if I had not 
every reason to expect a new one similar to it. Even the 
new year is already old in my account. I am not, indeed, 
sufficiently second-sighted, to be able to boast, by antici- 
pation, an acquaintance with the events of it yet unborn, 
but rest assured that, be they what they may, not one of 
them comes a messenger of good to me. If even death 
itself should be of the number, he is no friend of mine ; it 
is an alleviation of the woes, even of an unenlightened 
man, that he can wish for death, and indulge a hope, at 
least, that in death he shall find deliverance. But, loaded 
as my life is with despair, I have no such comfort as would 
result from a probability of better things to come were it 
once ended. I am far more unhappy than the traveller I 
have just referred to; pass through whatever difficulties, 
dangers, or afflictions, I may, I am not a whit nearer home* 



138 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

unless a dungeon be called so. This is no very agreeable 
theme, but in so great a dearth of subjects to write upon, 
and especially impressed as I am at this moment with a 
sense of my own condition, I could choose no other. The 
weather is an exact emblem of my mind in its present 
state. A thick fog envelopes every thing, and at the same 
time it freezes intensely. You will tell me, that this cold 
gloom will be succeeded by a cheerful spring, and endea- 
vour to encourage me to hope for a spiritual change resem- 
bling it, but it will be lost labour. Nature revives again ; 
but a soul once slain lives no more. The hedge that has 
been apparently dead is not so ; it will burst into leaf, and 
blossom at the appointed time, but no such time is ap- 
pointed for the stake that stands in it. It is as dead as it 
seems, and will prove itself no dissembler. The latter end 
of next month will complete a period of eleven years, in 
which I have spoken no other language. It is a long time 
for a man, whose eyes were once opened, to spend in dark- 
ness; long enough to make despair an inveterate habit; 
and such it is in me. My friends, I know, expect that I 
shall yet enjoy health again. They think it necessary to 
the existence of divine truth, that he who once had pos- 
session of it should never finally lose it. 1 admit the so- 
lidity of this reasoning in every case but my own, and why 
not in my own ? For causes which to them it appears 
madness to allege, but which rest upon my mind, with a 
weight of immoveable conviction. If I am recoverable, 
why am I thus ? why crippled, and made useless in the 
church, just at the time of life when my judgment and 
experience, being matured, I might be most useful. Why 
cashiered, and turned out of service, till, according to the 
course of years, there is not life enough left in me to make 
amends for the years I have lost ; till there is no reasonable 
hope left that the fruit can ever pay the expence of the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 139 

fallow? I forestall the answer— God's ways are myste- 
rious, and he giveth no account of his matters— an answer 
that would serve my purpose as well as theirs that use it. 
'There is a mystery in my destruction, and in time it will be 
explained." 

I could easily, were it not a subject that would make us 
melancholy, point out to you some essential difference 
between the state of the person you mentioned and my 
own, which would prove mine to be by far the most de- 
plorable of the two. I suppose no man would despair if 
he did not apprehend something singular in the circum- 
stances of his own story, something that discriminates it 
from that of every other man, and that induces despair as 
an inevitable consequence. You may encounter his un- 
happy persuasion with as many instances as you please, 
of persons who, like him, having renounced all hope, 
were yet restored, and may thence infer that he, like them, 
shall meet with a season of restoration — but it is in vain. 
Every such individual accounts himself an exception to 
all rules, and, therefore, the blessed reverse that others 
have experienced, affords no ground of comfortable ex- 
pectation to him. But you will say, it is reasonable to 
conclude that as all your predecessors in this vale of 
misery and horror have found themselves delightfully dis- 
appointed, so may you. I grant the reasonableness of it; 
it would be sinful, perhaps, as well as uncharitable to 
reason otherwise; but an argument hypothetical in its 
nature, however rationally conducted, may lead to a false 
conclusion ; and in this instance so will yours. But I for- 
bear, and will say no more, though it is a subject on which 
I could write more than the mail could carry. I must 
deal with you as I deal with poor Mrs. Unwin, in all our 
disputes about it. Cutting all controversy short by the 
event." 



140 THE L1F E OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

To a request from Mr. Newton that Cowper would 
favour the editor of the Theological Magazine with an 
occasional essay, he thus writes : — "I converse, you say, 
upon other subjects than that of despair, and may therefore 
write upon others. Indeed, my friend, I am a man of 
very little conversation upon any subject. From that of 
despair, I abstain as much as possible, for the sake of my 
company, but I will venture to say that it is never out of 
my mind one minute in the whole day. I do not mean to 
say that I am never cheerful. I am often so ; always, 
indeed, when my nights have been undisturbed for a 
season. But the effect of such continual listening to the 
language of a heart hopeless and deserted, is, that I can 
never give much more than half my attention to what is 
started by others, and very rarely start anything myself. 
You will easily perceive that a mind thus occupied, is but 
indifferently qualified for the consideration of theological 
matters. The most useful, and the most delightful topics 
of that kind, are to me forbidden fruit : I tremble as I ap- 
proach them. It has happened to me sometimes that I 
have found myself imperceptibly drawn in and made a 
party in such discourse. The consequence has been dis- 
satisfaction and self-reproach. You will tell me, perhaps, 
that I have written upon those subjects in verse, and may 
therefore in prose. But there is a difference. The search 
after poetical expression, the rhymes, and the numbers, 
are all affairs of some difficulty, they amuse indeed, but 
are not to be attained without study, and engross, perhaps, 
a larger share of the attention than the subject itself.'' 

In the spring of 1785, his friends became more sanguine 
in their expectations of his ultimate recovery, and they felt 
persuaded, it would take place at no very distant period. It 
appears also, by the following extract, that Cowper was not 
himself, wholly destitute of hope, on the subject. Writ- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 141 

ing to Mr. Newton, he says : — " I am sensible of the ten- 
derness and affectionate kindness with which you recollect 
our past intercourse, and express your hopes of my future 
restoration. I too, within the last eight months, have 
had my hopes, though they have been of short duration, 
cut off; like the foam upon the waters. Some previous 
adjustments, indeed are necessary before a lasting expecta- 
tion of comfort can take place in me. There are those 
persuasions in my mind, which either entirely forbid the 
entrance of hope, or, if it enter, immediately eject it. They 
are incompatible with any such inmate, and must be turned 
out themselves before so desirable a guest can possibly 
have secure possession. This you, say, will be done. It 
may be ; but it is not done yet ; nor has a single step in the 
course of God's dealings with me been taken towards it. 
If I mend, no creature ever mended so slowly, that re- 
covered at last. I am like a slug, or a snail, that has fallen 
into a deep well ; slug as he is, he performs his descent 
with a velocity proportioned to his weight ; but he does 
not crawl up again quite so fast. Mine was a rapid plunge ; 
but my return to daylight, if I am indeed returning, is 
leisurely enough. Were I such as I once was, I should 
say that I have a claim upon your particular notice, which 
nothing ought to supersede. Most of your other connec- 
tions you may fairly be said to have formed by your own 
act; but your connection with me was the work of God. 
The kine that went up with the ark from Bathshemesh, 
left what they loved behind them, in obedience to an 
impression which to them was perfectly dark and unin- 
telligible. Your journey to Huntingdon was not less won- 
derful. He indeed, who sent you, knew well wherefore, 
but you knew not. That dispensation, therefore, would 
furnish me as long as we can both remember it, with a plea 
for some distinction at your hands, had I occasion to use 



142 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

and urge it, which I have not. But I am altered since 
that time ; and if your affection for me had ceased, you 
might very reasonably justify your change by mine. I can 
say nothing for myself at present ; but this I can venture 
to foretel, that should the restoration of which my friends 
assure me obtain, I shall undoubtedly love those who have 
continued to love me, even in a state of transformation 
from my former self, much more than ever." 

It is gratifying to know, that, while such was the 
melancholy state of Cowper's mind, and while he steadily 
refused all religious comfort, come whence it might, he 
nevertheless afforded the most pleasing proofs by his 
amiable and consistent conduct, of the firm hold which re- 
ligion still had of his affections. The excellent remarks 
that are to be found in his letters, written at this period, 
show that he had some lucid intervals, and that occasional 
gleams of light shot across the darkened horizon of his 
mind. " It strikes me," (he says on one occasion), as a 
very observable instance of providential kindness to man, 
that such an exact accordance had been contrived between 
his ear and the sounds with which, at least in a rural situ- 
ation, it is almost every moment visited. All the world is 
sensible of the uncomfortable effect that certain sounds 
have upon the nerves, and consequently upon the spirits : 
and if a sinful world had been filled with such as would 
have curdled the blood, and have made the sense of hear- 
ing a perpetual inconvenience, I do not know that we 
should have had a right to complain. But now the fields, 
the woods, and the gardens, have each their concerts, and 
the ear of man is for ever regaled by creatures, who, while 
they please themselves, at the same time delight him. 
Even the ears that are deaf to the gospel, are continually 
entertained, though without appreciating it, by sounds, for 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 143 

which they are solely indebted to its author. There is 
somewhere in infinite space, a world that does not roll 
within the precincts of mercy, and as it is reasonable, 
and even scriptural to suppose, that there is music in 
heaven, in these dismal regions perhaps the reverse of it 
is found ; tones so dismal, as to make woe itself more in- 
supportable, and even to acuminate despair." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, the following serious reflec- 
tions occur : — " People that are but little acquainted with 
the terrors of divine wrath, are not much afraid of trifling 
with their Maker. But for my own part, I would sooner 
take Empledocles , leap, and fling myself into mount Etna, 
than I would do it in the slightest instance, were I in cir- 
cumstances to make an election. In the scripture we find 
a broad and clear exhibition of mercy, it is displayed in 
every page. Wrath is in comparison, but slightly touched 
upon, because it is not so much a discovery of wrath as of 
forgiveness. But had the displeasure of God been the 
principal subject of the book, and had it circumstantially 
set forth that measure of it only which may be endured in 
this life, the Christian world would perhaps, have been 
less comfortable; but I believe presumptuous meddlers 
with the gospel would have been less frequently met with." 

To Mr. Unwin he thus writes : — u Take my word for it, 
the word of a man singularly qualified to give his evidence 
in this matter, who having enjoyed the privilege some 
years, has been deprived of it more, and has no hope that 
he shall live to recover it. Those that have found a God, 
and are permitted to worship him, have found a treasure, 
of which, highly as they may prize it, they have but very 
scanty and limited conceptions. These are my Sunday 
morning speculations — the sound of the bells suggested 
them, or rather gave them such an emphasis, that they 



144 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

forced their way into my pen in spite of me ; for though I 
do not often commit them to paper, they are never absent 
from my mind." 

" You express sorrow, that your love of Christ was ex- 
cited in you, by a picture. Could the most insignificant 
thing suggest to me the thought that Christ is precious, I 
would not despise the thought. The meanness of the in- 
strument cannot debase the nobleness of the principle. 
He that kneels to a picture of Christ is an idolater ; but 
he in whose heart, the sight of such a picture kindles a 
warm remembrance of the Saviour's suffering, must be a 
Christian. Suppose that I dream as Gardiner did, that 
Christ walks before me, that he turns and smiles upon me, 
and fills my soul with ineffable love and joy. Will a man 
tell me, that I am deceived, that I ought not to love or 
rejoice in him for such a reason, because a dream is merely 
a picture drawn upon the imagination ? I hold not with 
such divinity. To love Christ is the greatest dignity of 
man, be that affection wrought in him how it may." 

No person ever formed more correct views of what really 
constitutes Christianity than Cowper, nor could any one 
ever feel a greater aversion to a mere profession of it. In 
a letter to one of his correspondents, the following remarks 
occur : — " I say amen, with all my heart, to your observa- 
tions on religious characters, Men who profess themselves 
adepts in mathematical knowledge, in astronomy, or juris- 
prudence, are generally as well qualified as they would ap- 
pear. The reason may be, that they are always liable to 
detection, should they attempt to impose upon mankind, 
and therefore take care to be what they pretend. In re- 
ligion alone, a profession is often slightly taken up, and 
slovenly carried on, because forsooth, candour and charity 
require us to hope the best, and to judge favourably of 
our neighbour ; and because it is easy to deceive the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. J 45 

ignorant, who are a great majority, upon this subject. Let 
a man attach himself to a particular party, contend furi- 
ously for what are properly called evangelical doctrines, 
and enlist himself under the banner of some popular 
preacher, and the business is done. Behold a Christian ! 
a saint ! a phoenix ! In the meantime perhaps his heart, 
his temper, and even his conduct, is unsanctified; possibly 
less exemplary than that of some avowed infidels. No 
matter, he can talk, he has the Bible in his pocket, and a 
head well stored with notions. But the quiet, humble, 
modest, and peaceable person, who is in his practice what 
the other is only in his profession, who hates a noise about 
religion, and therefore makes none, who, knowing the snares 
that are in the world, keeps himself as much out of it as 
he can, and never enters it but when duty calls, and even 
then with fear and trembling — is the Christian that will 
always stand highest in the estimation of those who bring 
all characters to the test of true wisdom, and judge of the 
tree by its fruits." 

In another letter, on a similar subject, he thus writes : — 
" It is indeed a melancholy consideration, that the gospel, 
whose direct tendency is to promote the happiness of man- 
kind in the present, as well as in the life to come, which 
so effectually answers the design of its author, whenever it 
is well understood and sincerely believed, should, through 
the ignorance, the bigotry, the superstition of its profes- 
sors, and the ambition of popes and princes, have produced 
incidentally so much mischief; only furnishing the world 
with a plausible pretext to worry each other, while they 
sanctified the worst cause with the specious pretext of 
zeal, for the furtherance of the best. Angels descend 
from heaven to publish peace between men and his Maker 
— the Prince of Peace himself comes to confirm and estab- 
lish it j and war, hatred, and desolation are the consequence. 



146 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Thousands quarrel about the interpretation of a book, 
which none of them understand. He that is slain, dies 
firmly persuaded that the crown of martyrdom awaits him ; 
he that slew him, is equally convinced that he has done 
God service. In reality they are both mistaken and equally 
unentitled to the honour they have arrogated to themselves. 
If a multitude of blind men should set out for a certain 
city, and dispute about the right road till a battle ensued 
between them, the probable effect would be that none of 
them would ever reach it ; and such a fray, preposterous 
and shocking in the extreme, would exhibit a picture in 
some degree resembling the original of which we have been 
speaking. And why is not the world thus occupied at 
present? only because they have exchanged a zeal that 
was no better than madness for an indifference equally 
pitiable and absurd. The holy sepulchre has lost its im- 
portance in the eyes of nations, called Christians, not be- 
cause the light of true wisdom has delivered them from a 
superstitious attachment to the spot, but because he that 
was buried in it is no longer regarded by them as the 
Saviour of the world. The exercise of reason, enlightened 
by philosophy, has cured them indeed of the misery of an 
abused understanding, but together with the delusion they 
have lost the substance, and for the sake of the lies that 
were grafted upon it, have quarrelled with the truth itself. 
Here then we see the ne plus ultra of human wisdom, at 
least in affairs of religion. It enlightens the mind with 
respect to non-essentials, but with respect to that in which 
the essence of Christianity consists, leaves it perfectly in 
the dark. It can discover many errors that in different ages 
have disgraced the faith, but it is only to make way for 
one more fatal than them all, which represents that faith 
as a delusion. Why those evils have been permitted shall 
be known hereafter. One thing, in the meantime, is 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 147 

certain, that the folly and frenzy of the professed disciples 
of the gospel, have been more dangerous to its interests, 
than all the avowed hostilities of its adversaries, and per- 
haps for this cause, these mischiefs might be suffered to 
prevail for a season, that its divine original and nature 
might be the more illustrated, when it should appear that 
it was able to stand its ground for ages, against that most 
formidable of all attacks — the indiscretion of its friends. 
The outrages that have followed this perversion of the 
truth, have proved, indeed a stumbling-block to indivi- 
duals ; the wise of this world, with all their wisdom, have 
not been able to distinguish between the blessing and the 
abuse of it. Voltaire was offended, and Gibbon has turned 
his back, but the flock of Christ is still „ nourished, and 
still increases, notwithstanding the unbelief of a philoso- 
pher is able to convert bread into a stone, and fish into a 
serpent." 

The following very serious reflections occur, in a letter 
to Mr. Newton, about this time, adverting to the sufferings 
of the poor at Olney, whose distressing circumstances on 
all occasions excited the tenderest sympathies of the poet : 
— " The winter sets in with great severity. The rigour of 
the season, and the advanced price of provisions, are very 
threatening to the poor. It is well with those that can 
feed upon a promise and wrap themselves up warm in the 
robe of salvation. A good fire-side and a well-spread 
table are but indifferent substitutes for these better accom- 
modations ; so very indifferent, that I would gladly'ex- 
change them both for the rags and the unsatisfied hunger 
of the poorest creature, that looks forward with hope to a 
better world, and weeps tears of joy in the midst of penury 
and distress. What a world is this ! How mysteriously 
governed, and, in appearance, left to itself. One man, 
having squandered thousands at a gaming-table, finds it 

l2 



148 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

convenient to travel ; gives his estate to somebody to ma- 
nage for him ; amuses himself a few years in France and 
Italy; returns, perhaps, wiser than he went, having ac- 
quired knowledge, which, but for his follies, he would 
never have acquired ; again makes a splendid figure at 
home, shines in the senate, governs his country as its 
minister, is admired for his abilities, and if successful, 
adored, at least, by a party. When he dies he is praised 
as a demigod, and his monument records every thing but 
his vices. The exact contrast of such a picture is to be 
found in many cottages at Olney. I have no need to de- 
scribe them, you know the characters I mean ; they love 
God, they trust him, they pray to him in secret, and though 
he means to reward them openly, the day of recompence 
is delayed. In the meantime they suffer every thing that 
infirmity and poverty can inflict upon them. Who would 
suspect, that has not a spiritual eye to discern it, that 
the fine gentleman might possibly be one whom his Maker 
had in abhorrence, and the wretch last mentioned, dear to 
him as the apple of his eye ? It is no wonder that the 
world, who only look at things as they are connected with 
the present life, find themselves obliged, some of them at 
least, to doubt a providence, and others absolutely to deny 
it ; when almost all the real virtue there is to be found in 
it, exists in a state of neglected obscurity, and all the vices 
cannot exclude them from the privilege of worship and 
honour. But behind the curtain the matter will be ex- 
plained ; very little, however, to the satisfaction of the 
great." 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 149 



CHAPTER X. 

Publication of Cowper's second volume of poems — Manner in which 
it was received by the public — His feelings on the occasion — 
Great self-abasement — Renewal of his correspondence with Lady 
Hesketh — Acceptance of her proffered assistance — Her projected 
visit to Olney — Cowper's pleasing anticipations of its results — 
Her arrival — Cowper's removal from Olney to Weston — His 
intimacy with the Throckmortons — Happiness it afforded him. 

Cowper's second volume of poems, the publication of 
which had been delayed much longer than was expected, 
appeared, at length, in the summer of 1785. His first 
volume, though it had not met with that success which 
might have been expected, had nevertheless, been exten- 
sively circulated, and was spoken of highly by some of 
the first literary characters of the age. It had, therefore, 
raised the expectations of the public and had thus made 
way for its successor, which no sooner made its appearance 
than it was eagerly sought after, and met with a rapid and 
an extensive sale. High as had been the expectations of 
his friends, they fell far short of what he had accomplished 
in that brilliant display of real poetical talent every where 
to be found in the Task. The singularity of the title 
made its first appearance somewhat repulsive ; its various 
and matchless beauties were however soon discovered, and 
it speedily raised the reputation of Cowper to the highest 
summit of poetic genius, and placed him among: the first 
class of poets. 



150 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, he describes his feelings on 
this occasion, in such a manner as proves him to have been 
influenced by nothing like selfish or ambitious motives ; 
but by principles far more noble and exalted : — " I found 
your account of what you experienced in your state of 
maiden authorship very entertaining, because very natural. 
I suppose no man ever made his first sally from the press 
without a conviction that all eyes and ears would be 
engaged to attend him, at least without a thousand anxi- 
eties lest they should not. But, however arduous and 
interesting such an enterprise may be in the first instance, 
it seems to me that our feelings on the occasion soon be- 
come obtuse. I can answer at least for one. Mine are by 
no means what they were when I published my first volume. 
I am even so indifferent to the matter, that I can truly 
assert myself guiltless of the very idea of my book some- 
times for whole days together. God knows that my mind 
having been occupied more than twelve years in the con- 
templation of the most distressing subjects, the world, 
and its opinion of what I write, is become as unimportant 
to me as the whistling of a bird in a bush. Despair made 
amusement necessary, and I found poetry the most agree- 
able amusement. Had I not endeavoured to perform my 
best, it would not have amused me at all. The mere 
blotting of so much paper would have been but indifferent 
sport. God gave me grace also to wish that I might not 
write in vain. Accordingly I have mingled much truth 
with some trifle ; and such truths as deserved at least to 
be clad as well and as handsomely as I could clothe them. 
If the world approve me not, so much the worse for them, 
but not for me, I have only endeavoured to serve them, 
and the loss will be their own. And as to their commend- 
ations, if I should chance to win them, I feel myself equally 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 151 

invulnerable there. The view that I have had of myself, 
for many years, has been so truly humiliating, that I think 
the praises of all mankind could not hurt me. God knows 
that I speak my present sense of the matter at least most 
truly, when I say, that the admiration of creatures like 
myself seems to me a weapon the least dangerous that my 
worst enemy could employ against me. I am fortified 
against it by such solidity of real self-abasement, that I 
deceive myself most egregiously, if I do not heartly despise 
it. Praise belongeth to God ; and I seem to myself to covet 
it no more than I covet divine honours. Could I assur- 
edly hope that God would at last deliver me, I should have 
reason to thank him for all that I have suffered, were it 
only for the sake of this single fruit of my affliction — that 
it has taught me how much more contemptible I am in 
myself than I ever before suspected, and has reduced my 
former share of self-knowledge (of which at that time I 
had a tolerable good opinion) to a mere nullity, in com- 
parison to what I have acquired since. Self is a subject 
of inscrutable misery and mischief, and can never be 
studied to so much advantage as in the dark; for as the 
bright beams of the sun seem to impart a beauty to the 
most unsightly objects, so the light of God's countenance, 
vouchsafed to a fallen creature, so sweetens him and softens 
him for the time, that he seems both to others and to him- 
self, to have nothing selfish or sordid about him. But the 
heart is a nest of serpents, and will be such while it con- 
tinues to beat. If God cover the mouth of that nest with 
his hand, they are hush and snug ; but if he withdraw his 
hand the whole family lift up their heads and hiss, and are 
as active and venomous as ever. This I always professed 
to believe from the time that I had embraced the truth, 
but I never knew it as I know it now. To what end I 



152 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

have been made to know it as I do, whether for the benefit 
of others or for my own, or for both, or for neither, will 
appear hereafter." 

While Cowper looked upon his publication with so much 
indifference, his friends regarded it with very opposite feel- 
ings. Its rapid and extensive circulation, not only de- 
lighted those who were intimately associated with him, 
and had been witnesses to the acute anguish of his mind, 
during his depressive malady, but it also gratified several 
of his former associates and correspondents, and induced 
them to renew their communications with the poet. Among 
these was Lady Hesketh, who was so charmed with pro- 
ductions of his pen, that on her return from abroad, where 
she had spent several years with her husband, she renewed 
her correspondence with Cowper, and as she was now a 
widow and was handsomely provided for, she generously 
offered to render him any assistance he might want. Cow- 
per's reply to an affectionate letter she wrote him, shows 
the warmth of his affection towards those whom he loved. 
He thus writes : — " My dear Cousin, It is no new thing 
for you to give pleasure. But I will venture to say that 
you do not often give more than you gave me this morn- 
ing. When I came down to breakfast and found on the 
table, a letter franked by my uncle, and when opening that 
frank, I found that it contained a letter from you, I said 
within myself, This is just as it should be. We are all 
grown young again, and the days that I thought I should 
see no more are actually returned. You perceive, therefore, 
that you judged well when you conjectured that a line from 
you would not be disagreeable to me. It could not be 
otherwise than as in fact it has proved, a most agreeable 
surprise. For I can truly boast of an affection for you 
that neither years nor intercepted intercourse have at all 
abated. I need only recollect how much I valued you 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 1 53 

once, and with how much cause, immediately to feel a re- 
vival of the same value ; if that can be said to revive, 
which at the most has only been dormant for want of em- 
ployment. But I slander it when T say that it has slept. 
A thousand times have I recollected a thousand scenes, in 
which our two selves have formed the whole of the drama, 
with the greatest pleasure at times too, when I had no 
reason to suppose that I should ever hear from you again. 
The hours that I have spent with you, were among the 
pleasantest of my former days, and are therefore chronicled 
in my mind so deeply as to fear no erasure. You say that 
you have often heard of me ; that puzzles me. I cannot 
imagine from what quarter; but it is no matter. I must 
tell you however, my dear cousin, that your information 
has been a little defective. That I am happy in my situa- 
tion is true ; I live, and have lived these twenty years, 
with Mrs. Unwin, to whose affectionate care of me, during 
the far greater part of that time, it is, under Divine Pro- 
vidence owing that I live at all. But I do not account 
myself happy in having been for thirteen of those years in 
a state of mind that has made all that care and attention 
necessary. An attention and a care, that have injured her 
health, and which, had she not been uncommonly sup- 
ported, must have brought her to the grave. But I will 
pass to another subject; it would be cruel to particularize 
only to give pain, neither should I by any means give a 
sable hue to the first letter of a correspondence so unex- 
pectedly renewed. I must, however, tell you, my dear 
cousin, that dejection of spirits, which, I suppose, may 
have prevented many a man from becoming an author, has 
made me one. I find constant employment necessary, and 
therefore take care to be constantly employed. Manual 
occupations do not engage the mind sufficiently, as I know 
by experience, having tried many. But composition, espc- 



154 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



cially of verse, absorbs it wholly. I write therefore generally 
three hours in the morning, and in the evening I transcribe. 
I read also, but less than I write, for I must have bodily 
exercise, and therefore never pass a day without it. 

" I do not seek new friends, not being altogether sure 
that I should find them, but have unspeakable pleasure in 
being beloved by an old one. J hope that our correspond- 
ence has now suffered its last interruption, and that we 
shall go down together to the grave, chattering and chirp- 
ing as happily as such a scene as this will permit. T am 
happy that my poems have pleased you. My volume has 
afforded me no such pleasure at any time, either while I 
was writing it, or since its publication, as I have derived 
from yours and my uncle's favourable opinion respecting 
it. I make certain allowances for partiality, and for that 
peculiar quickness of taste, with w T hich you both relish 
what you like, and after all drawbacks upon those ac- 
counts, duly made, find myself rich in the measure of your 
approbation, that still remains. But above all I honour 
John Gilpin, since it was he who first encouraged you to 
write. I made him on purpose to laugh at, and he served 
his purpose well ; but I am now indebted to him for a more 
valuable acquisition than all the laughter in the world 
amounts to, the recovery of my intercourse with you, 
which is to me inestimable. I am glad that I always loved 
you as I did. It releases me from any occasion to suspect 
that my present affection for you is indebted for its ex- 
istence to any selfish considerations. No, I am sure I love 
you disinterestedly, and for your own sake, because I never 
thought of you with any other sensations, than those of 
the truest affection, even while I was under the persuasion, 
that I should never hear from you again. But with my 
present feelings superadded to those that I always had for 
you, I find it no easy matter to do justice to my sensa- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 155 

tions. I perceive myself in a state of mind, similar to that 
of the traveller described in Pope's Messiah, who, as he 
passes through a sandy desert, starts at the sudden and 
unexpected sound of a water-fall. Your very generous 
offer of assistance has placed me in a situation new to me, 
and in which I feel myself somewhat puzzled how to be- 
have. When I was once asked if I w r anted any thing, and 
given delicately to understand that the inquirer was ready 
to supply all my occasions, I thankfully and civilly, but 
positively declined the favour. I neither suffer nor have 
suffered such inconveniences, as I had not much rather 
endure, than come under an obligation to a person, who is 
almost a stranger to me. But to you I answer otherwise. 
I know you thoroughly, and the liberality of your disposi- 
tion, and have that consummate confidence in the sincerity 
of your wish to serve me, that delivers me from all awk- 
ward constraint, and from all fear of trespassing by ac- 
ceptance. To you therefore I reply, yes. Whensoever 
and whatsoever, and in what manner soever, you please, 
and add moreover, that my affection for the giver is such 
as will increase to me tenfold the satisfaction I shall have 
in receiving. You must not, however, strain any points to 
your own inconvenience or hurt ; there is no need of it ; 
but indulge yourself in communicating (no matter what) 
that you can spare without missing it, since by so doing 
you will be sure to add to the comforts of my life, one of 
the sweetest that I can enjoy— -a token and a proof of 
your affection. At the same time that I would not grieve 
you by putting a check upon your bounty, I would be as 
careful not to abuse it, as if I were a miser, and the ques- 
tion were, not about your money but my own." 

The happiest consequences resulted from the renewal of 
Cowpers correspondence with this accomplished and ex- 
cellent lady. After an interchange of some of the most 



156 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

interesting letters that were ever written, she proposed at 
length to pay the sequestered poet a visit at Olney, and 
made arrangements accordingly. The following extracts 
from Cowper's letters to her on this accasion will be read 
with pleasure, as a faithful record of the delight he antici- 
pated from this interview : — "I have been impatient to tell 
you, that I am impatient to see you again. Mrs. Unwin 
partakes with me in all my feelings. Let me assure you, 
that your kindness in promising us a visit, has charmed us 
both. I shall see you again, I shall hear your voice. We 
shall take walks together. I will show you my prospects — 
the hovel, the alcove, the Ouse, and its banks, every thing 
that I have described. I anticipate the pleasure of those 
days not very far distant, and feel a part of it this moment. 
My dear, I will not let you come till the end of May or the 
beginning of June, because before that time my green- 
house will not be ready to receive us, and it is the only 
pleasant room belonging to us. When the plants go out, 
we go in. I line it with nets, and spread the floor with 
mats; and there you shall sit, with abed of mignonette at 
your side, and a hedge of honeysuckles, roses, and jasmine ; 
and I will make you a bouquet of myrtle every day. We 
now talk of nobody but you — what we will do with you 
when we get you, where you shall walk, where you shall 
sleep, in short every thing that bears the remotest relation 
to your well-being at Olney occupies all our talking time, 
which is all that I do not spend at Troy. Mrs. Unwin has 
already secured for you an apartment, or rather two, just 
such as we could wish. The house in which you will find 
them is within thirty yards of our own, and opposite to it. 
The whole affair is thus commodiously adjusted; and now 
I have nothing to do but to wish for June ; and June, my 
cousin, was never so wished for since June was made. I 
shall have a thousand things to hear, and a thousand to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ] 57 

say, and they will all rush into my mind together, till it 
will be so crowded with things impatient to be said, that 
for some time I shall say nothing. But no matter — sooner 
or later they will all come out. After so long a separation, 
a separation, which of late seemed so likely to last for life, 
we shall meet each other as alive from the dead ; and, for 
my own part, I can truly say, that I have not a friend in 
the other world whose resurrection would give me greater 
pleasure. " 

" If you will not quote Solomon, my dearest cousin, I 
will. He says, and as beautifully as truly, ' Hope deferred 
maketh the heart sick, but when the desire cometh, it is a 
tree of life !' I feel how much reason he had on his side 
when he made this observation, and am myself really sick 
of your delay. Well, the middle of June will not always 
be a thousand years off; and when it comes, I shall hear 
you, and see you too, and shall not care a single farthing if 
you do not touch a pen for a month. From this very 
morning, 15th May, 1786, I begin to date the last month 
of our long separation ; and confidently, and most com- 
fortably hope, that before the fifteenth of June shall pre- 
sent itself, we shall have seen each other. Is it not so? 
and will it not be one of the most extraordinary eras of my 
extraordinary life ? A year ago we neither corresponded, 
nor expected to meet in this world. But this world is a 
scene of marvellous events, many of them more marvellous 
than fiction itself would dare to hazard; (blessed be God!) 
they are not all of the distressing kind. Now and then, in 
the course of an existence, whose hue is for the most part 
sable, a day turns up that makes amends for many sighs, 
and many subjects of complaint. Such a day shall I ac- 
count the day of your arrival at Olney. Wherefore is it 
(canst thou tell me) that, together with all these delightful 
sensations, to which the sight of a long absent dear friend 



158 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

gives birth, there is a mixture of something painful, flutter- 
ings and tumults, and I know not what accompaniments 
of our pleasure, that are in fact perfectly foreign from the 
occasion ? Such I feel when I think of our meeting, and 
such, I suppose, feel you; and the nearer the crisis ap- 
proaches, the more I am sensible of them. I know before- 
hand that they will increase with every turn of the wheels 
that shall convey you to Olney; and when we actually 
meet, the pleasure, and this unaccountable pain together, 
will be as much as I shall be able to support. I am utterly 
at a loss for the cause, and can only resolve it into that 
appointment, by which it has been foreordained that all 
human delights shall be qualified and mingled with their 
contraries. But a fig; for them all! Let us resolve to 
combat with, and to conquer them. They are dreams ; 
they are illusions of the judgment. Some enemy that 
hates the happiness of human kind, and is ever industrious 
to dash, if he cannot destroy it, works them in us, and 
they being so perfectly unreasonable as they are, is a proof 
of it. Nothing that is such can be the work of a good 
agent. This I know too by experience, that, like all other 
illusions, they exist only by force of imagination, are in- 
debted for their prevalence to the absence of their object, 
and in a few moments after their appearance cease. So 
then this is a settled point, and the case stands thus. You 
will tremble as you draw near to Olney, and so shall I ; 
but we will both recollect that there is no reason why we 
should, and this recollection will, at least, have some little 
effect in our favour. We will likewise both take the com- 
fort of what we know to be true, that the tumult will 
soon cease, and the pleasure long survive the pain, even as 
long, I trust, as we ourselves shall survive it. Assure your- 
self, my dear cousin, that both for your sake, since you 
make a point of it, and for my own, I will be as philoso- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. J59 

phically careful as possible, that these fine nerves of mine 
shall not be beyond measure agitated when you arrive. In 
truth, there is a much greater probability that they will be 
benefited, and greatly too. Joy of heart, from whatever 
occasion it may arise, is the best of all nervous medicines ; 
and I should not wonder, if such a turn given to my spirits 
should have even a lasting effect, of the most advantageous 
kind, upon them. You must not imagine neither, that I 
am, on the whole, in any great degree, subject to nervous 
affections : occasionally I am, and have been these many 
years, much liable to dejection ; but, at intervals, and 
sometimes for an interval of weeks, no creature would 
suspect it. For I have not, that which commonly is a 
symptom of such a case belonging to me : I mean occa- 
sional extraordinary elevation. When I am in the best 
health, my tide of animal sprightliness flows with great 
equality, so that I am never, at any time, exalted in pro- 
portion as I am sometimes depressed. My depression has 
a cause, and if that cause were to cease, I should be as 
cheerful thenceforth, and perhaps for ever, as any man 
need be." 

" Your visit is delayed too long, to my impatience, at 
least it seems so, who find ths spring, backward as it is, too 
forward, because many of its beauties will have faded 
before you will have an opportunity to see them. We took 
our customary walk yesterday, and saw, with regret, the la- 
burnums, syringas, and guelder roses, some of them blown, 
and others just upon the point of blowing, and could not 
help observing, that all these will be gone before Lady 
Hesketh comes. Still, however, there will be roses, and 
jasmine, and honey-suckle, and shady walks, and cool al- 
coves, and you will partake them with us. But I want 
you to have a share of every thing that is delightful here, 
and cannot bear that the advance of the season should 



160 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

steal away a single pleasure before you come to enjoy it. 
I will venture to say, that even you were never so much 
expected in your life." 

u I regret that I have made your heart ache so often, my 
dear cousin, with talking about my fits of dejection. Some- 
thing has happened that has led me to the subject, or I 
would have mentioned them more sparingly. Do not sup- 
pose that I treat you with reserve; there is nothing in 
which I am concerned that you shall not be made ac- 
quainted with. But the tale is too long for a letter : I will 
only add, for your present satisfaction, that the cause is 
not exterior, that it is not within the reach of human aid, 
and that yet I have a hope myself, and Mrs. Unwin a strong 
persuasion of its removal. I am indeed even now, and 
have been for a considerable time, sensible of a change for 
the better, and expect, with good reason, a comfortable lift 
from you. Guess then, my beloved cousin, with what 
wishes I look forward to the time of your arrival, from 
whose coming I promise myself not only pleasure, but 
peace of mind, at least an additional share of it. At 
present it is an uncertain and transient guest with me; but 
the joy with which I shall see, and converse with you, 
at Olney, may, perhaps, make it an abiding one." 

It is seldom that pleasure, anticipated with such warmth 
of feeling, fully answers our expectations. Human en- 
joyments almost invariably seem much more valuable in 
prospect than in possession. Cowper's interview with his 
cousin, however, was altogether an exception, and proved a 
source of more real delight to both parties than either of 
them had expected. As might naturally be supposed, 
after a separation of three-and-twenty years, they both ex- 
perienced the full force of those emotions, which Cowper 
had so well described in his letters, and their first meeting 
was, indeed, painfully pleasing ; every sensation, however, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 161 

that was in any degree painful, soon subsided, and gave 
place to such only as were pure and delightful. Mrs. 
Unwin was pleased with the sweetness of temper, agree- 
able manners, and cheerful conversation of Lady Hesketh, 
and her ladyship was no less delighted with the mild, ami- 
able, and affectionate conduct of her new companion ; while 
Cowper's heart was gladdened to have the advantage of 
daily intercourse with another highly cultivated mind." 

The happy effect this change had upon Cowper's spirits 
will be seen by the following extracts from his correspond- 
ence : — " My dear cousin's arrival, as it could not fail to 
do, has made us happier than we ever were at Olney. Her 
great kindness, in giving us her company, is a cordial that 
I shall feel the effect of, not only while she is here, but 
while I live. She has been with us a fortnight. She 
pleases every body, and is, in her turn, pleased with every 
thing she finds here ; is always cheerful and good tempered; 
and knows no pleasure equal to that of communicating 
pleasure to us, and to all around her. This disposition in her 
is the more comfortable, because it is not the humour of 
the day, a sudden flash of benevolence and goodness, oc- 
casioned merely by a change of scene, but it is her natural 
turn, and has governed all her conduct ever since I knew 
her first. We are consequently happy in her society, 
and shall be happier still to have you partake with us in 
our joy. I am fond of the sound of bells, but was never 
more pleased with those of Olney than when they rang 
her into her new habitation. She is, as she ever was, my 
pride and my joy ; and I am delighted with every thing 
that means to do her honour. Her first appearance was 
too much for me ; my spirits, instead of being gently raised, 
broke down with me, under the pressure of too much joy, 
and left me flat, or rather melancholy, throughout the day, 
to a degree that was mortifying to myself, and alarming to 

M 



162 ^HE LIFE »F WILLIAM COWPER. 

her. But I have made amends for this torture since : and, 
in point of cheerfulness, have far exceeded her expectations, 
for she knew that sable had been my suit for many years. 
By :.-: irlp we get change of air and of scene, though still 
resident at Olney ; and by her means, have intercourse 
with some families in this country, with whom, but for 
b could never have been acquainted. Her presence 
here would at anytime, even in her happiest days, have 
been a comfort to me ; but in the present day I am doubly 
sensible of its value. She leaves nothing- unsaid, nothing 
undone, that she thinks will be conducive to our well 
being; and so far as she is concerned, I have nothing to 
wish, but that I could believe her sent hither in mercy to 
myself; then I shoald be thankful." 

Lady Hesketh had not long been at Olney before she 
became dissatisfied with the poet's residence. She thought 
it a situation altogether unsuitable for a person subject to 
depression. Cowper himself had often entertained the 
same opinion respecting it ; and both he and Mrs. Unwin 
had frequently wished for a change, and had, indeed, been 
looking out for a house more agreeable to their taste. At 
that time a very commodious cottage, pleasantly situated in 
the village of Weston Underwood, a mile and a half distant 
from Olney, belonging to Sir John Throckmorton, was un- 
occupied. It occurred to Cowper, that this would be a 
very agreeable summer residence for his cousin ; and on his 
mentioning it to her, she immediately engaged it, not for 
herself only, but for the future residence of the poet 
and his amiable companion, with whom she had now made 
up her mind to become a frequent, if not a constant asso- 
7 Th e i : H : : g extracts will best describe Cowper's 
feelings on this occasion : — "I shall now communicate 
news that will give you pleasure. When you first contem- 
plated the front of our abode, you were shocked. In your 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 163 

eyes it had the appearance of a prison, and you sighed at 
the thought that your mother lived in it. Your view of it 
was not only just, but prophetic. It had not only the 
aspect of a place built for the purposes of incarceration, but 
has actually served that purpose, through a long, long 
period, that we have been the prisoners ; but a gaol deli- 
very is at hand. The bolts and bars are to be loosed, and 
we shall escape. A very different mansion, both in point 
of appearance and accommodation, expects us; and the 
expense of living in it w T ill not be much greater than we 
are subjected to in this. It is situated at Weston, one of 
the prettiest villages in England, and belongs to Mr. 
Throckmorton, afterwards Sir John Throckmorton. We 
all three dine with him to-day by invitation, and shall 
survey it in the afternoon, point out the necessary repairs and 
finally adjust the treaty. I have my cousin's promise that 
she will never let another year pass without a visit to us, 
and the house is large enough to take us, and our suite, 
and her also, with as many of her's as she shall choose to 
bring. The change will, I hope, prove advantageous, both 
to your mother and to me, in all respects. Here we have 
no neighbourhood ; there we shall have much agreeable 
neighbours in the Throckmortons. Here we have a bad 
air in the winter, impregnated with the fishy smelling 
fumes of the marsh miasma; there we shall breathe in an 
atmosphere untainted. Here we are confined from Sep- 
tember to March, and sometimes longer ; there we shall be 
upon the very verge of pleasure grounds, upon which we 
can always ramble, and shall not wade through almost im- 
passable dirt to get at them. Both your mother's consti- 
tution and mine have suffered materially by such close and 
long confinement; and it is high time, unless we intend to 
retreat into the grave, that we should seek out a more 
wholesome residence. So far is well; the rest is left to 
Heaven." m 2 



164 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

To his friend Mr. Newton, he thus writes : — " You have 
heard of our intended removal. The house that is to re- 
ceive us is in a state of preparation, and when finished, will 
be both smarter and more commodious than our present 
abode. But the circumstance that recommends it chiefly 
is its situation. Long confinement in the winter, and 
indeed, for the most part in the autumn too, has hurt us 
both. A gravel walk, thirty yards long, affords but in- 
different scope to the locomotive faculty ; yet it is all 
that we have had to move in for eight months in the year, 
during thirteen years that I have been a prisoner. Had I 
been confined in the Tower, the battlements of it would 
have furnished me with a larger space. You say well, 
that there was a time when I was happy at Olney ; and I 
am now as happy at Olney, as I expect to be any where, 
without the presence of God. Change of situation is with 
me no otherwise an object, than as both Mrs. Unwin's 
health and my own happen to be concerned in it. We are 
both I believe partly indebted for our respective maladies, 
to an atmosphere encumbered with raw vapours, issuing 
from flooded meadows, and we have perhaps fared the 
worse for sitting so often, and sometimes for several suc- 
cessive months, over a cellar, filled with water. These ills 
we shall escape in the uplands ; and as we may reasonably 
hope, of course, their consequences. But as for happiness, 
he that once had communion with his Maker, must be more 
frantic than ever I was yet, if he can dream of finding it 
at a distance from him. I no more expect happiness at Wes- 
ton than here, or than I should expect it in company with 
felons and outlaws in the hold of a ballast-lighter. Animal 
spirits, however, have their value, and are especially de- 
sirable to him who is condemned to carry a burden which 
at any rate will tire him, but which without their aid, can- 
not fail to crush him." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 165 

On the 15th November, 1786, Cowper entered upon his 
new abode. The following extracts from his letters de- 
scribe his sensations on the occasion : — " There are some 
things that do not exactly shorten the life of man, yet seem 
to do so, and frequent removals from place to place are of 
that number. For my own part, at least, I am apt to think, 
if I had been more stationary, I should seem to myself to 
have lived longer. My many changes of habitation have 
divided my time into many short periods • and when I look 
back upon them they appear only as the stages of a day's 
journey, the first of which is at no great distance from the 
last. I lived longer at Olney than any where. There in- 
deed I lived till mouldering walls and a tottering house 
warned me to depart. I have accordingly taken the hint, 
and two days since arrived, or rather took up my abode, at 
Weston. You perhaps have never made the experiment, but 
1 can assure you that the confusion that attends a transmi- 
gration of this kind is infinite, and has a terrible effect in 
deranging the intellect. When God speaks to a chaos, it 
becomes a scene of order and harmony in a moment ; but 
when his creatures have thrown one house into confusion by 
leaving it, and another by tumbling themselves and their 
goods into it, not less than many days' labour and contri- 
vance are necessary to give them their proper places. And 
it belongs to furniture of all kinds, however convenient it 
may be in its place, to be a nuisance out of it. We find 
ourselves here in a comfortable house. Such it is in itself; 
and my cousin, who has spared no expence in dressing it 
up for us, has made it a genteel one. Such, at least, it 
will be, when its contents are a little harmonized. She 
left us on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, Mrs. Unwin and I 
took possession of our new abode. I could not help giving 
a last look to my old prison, and its precincts ; and though 
I cannot easily account for it, having been miserable there 



]Q6 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

so many years, felt something like a heart-ache, when I 
took my leave of a scene, that certainly in itself had nothing 
to engage affection. But I recollected that I had once 
been happy there, and could not, without tears in my eyes, 
bid adieu to a place in which God had so often found me. 
The human mind is a great mystery ; mine, at least, ap- 
pears to be such upon this occasion. I found that I not 
only had a tenderness for that ruinous abode, because it 
had once known me happy in the presence of God, but that 
even the distress I had there suffered, for so long a time, on 
account of his absence, had. endeared it to me as much. I 
was weary of every object, had long wished for a change, 
yet could not take leave without a pang at parting. What 
consequences are to attend our removal, God only knows. 
I know well that it is not in the power of situation to effect 
a cure of melancholy like mine. The change, however, 
has been entirely a providential one ; for much as I wished 
it, I never uttered that wish, except to Mrs. Unwin. When 
I learned that the house was to be let, and had seen it, I 
had a strong desire that Lady Hesketh should take it for 
herself, if she should happen to like the country. That 
desire, indeed, is not exactly fulfilled, and yet, upon the 
whole, is exceeded. We are the tenants ; but she assures 
us that we shall often have her for a guest, and here is 
room enough for us all. You, I hope, my dear friend, and 
Mrs. Newton, will want no assurances to convince you 
that you will always be received here with the sincerest 
welcome, more welcome than you have been you cannot be, 
but better accommodated you may and will be." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. J 67 



CHAPTER XI. 

Extracts from his correspondence — Description of the deep seriousness 
that generally pervaded his mind — His remarks to justify his re- 
moval from Olney — Vindicates himself and Mrs. Unwin from 
unjust aspersions — Reasons for undertaking the translation of 
Homer — His opinion of Pope's — Unremitting attention to his own 
— Immense pains he bestowed upon it — His readiness to avail 
himself of the assistance of others — Vexation he experienced from 
a multiplicity of critics — Just remarks upon criticism — Determi- 
nation to persevere in his work — Justifies himself for undertaking 
it — Pleasure he took in relieving the poor — Renewal of his cor- 
respondence with General Cowper and the Rev, Dr. Bagot — Con- 
solatory letter to the latter. 

The extracts we have already made from Cowper's cor- 
respondence prove, unquestionably, that the leading bias 
of his mind was towards the all-important concerns of 
religion. As an exhibition, however, of the state of his 
mind in this respect, at least, up to the close of 1786, 
the period of his removal to Weston, we think the fol- 
lowing extracts cannot fail to be interesting. To Mr. 
Newton he writes as follows: — " Those who enjoy the 
means of grace, and know how to use them well, will 
thrive anywhere ; others no where. More than a few, 
who were formerly ornaments of this garden, which you 
once watered, here flourished, and have seemed to wi- 
ther, and become, as the apostle James strongly expresses 
it — twice dead — plucked up by the roots; others trans- 
planted into a soil, apparently less favourable to their 
growth, either find the exchange an advantage, or at least, 



168 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. 

are not injured by it. Of myself, who had once both 
leaves and fruit, but who have now neither, I say nothing, 
or only this — that when I am overwhelmed with despair, 
I repine at my barrenness, and think it hard to be thus 
blighted ; but when a glimpse of hope breaks in upon me, 
I am then contented to be the sapless thing I am, knowing 
that he who has commanded me to wither, can command 
me to flourish again when he pleases. My experiences, 
however, of this latter kind, are rare and transient. The 
light that reaches me cannot be compared either to that of 
the sun, or of the moon ; it is a flash in a dark night, 
during which the heavens seem opened only to shut again. 
1 should be happy (and when I say this, I mean to be un- 
derstood in the fullest and most emphatical sense of the 
word) if my frame of mind were such as to permit me to 
study the important truths of religion. But Adam's ap- 
proach to the tree of life, after he had sinned, was not more 
effectually prohibited by the flaming sword that turned every 
way, than mine to its great Antitype has been now almost 
these thirteen years, a short interval of three or four days, 
which passed about this time twelvemonth, alone excepted. 
For what reason I am thus long excluded, if I am ever 
again to be admitted, is known to God only. I can say 
but this, that if he is still my father, his paternal severity 
has, toward me, been such as to give me reason to account 
it unexampled. For though others have suffered deser- 
tion, yet few, I believe, for so long a time, and perhaps 
none a desertion accompanied with such experience. But 
they have this belonging to them : that as they are not fit 
for recital, being made up merely of infernal ingredients, 
so neither are they susceptible of it, for I know no language 
in which they could be expressed. They are as truly 
things which it is not possible for man to utter, as those 
were which Paul heard and saw in the third heaven. If 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 169 

the ladder of Christian experience reaches, as I suppose it 
does, to the very presence of God, it has nevertheless its 
foot in the abyss. And if Paul stood, as no doubt he did, 
on the topmost stave of it, I have been standing, and still 
stand, on the lowest, in this thirteenth year that has passed 
since I descended. In such a situation of mind, encom- 
passed by the midnight of absolute despair, and a thousand 
times filled with unspeakable horror, I first commenced an 
author. Distress drove me to it ; and the impossibility of 
existing without some employment, still recommends it. 
I am not, indeed, so perfectly hopeless as I was, but I am 
equally in need of an occupation, being often as much, and 
sometimes even more, worried than ever. I cannot amuse 
myself as I once could with carpenters' or with gardeners* 
tools, or with squirrels and guinea-pigs. At that time I 
was a child ; but since it has pleased God, whatever else 
he withholds from me, to restore to me a man's mind, I 
have put away childish things. Thus far, therefore, it is 
plain that I have not chosen, or prescribed to myself, my 
own way, but have been providentially led to it ; perhaps 
I might say, with equal propriety, compelled and scourged 
into it: for certainly could I have made my choice, or 
were I permitted to make it even now, those hours which 
I spend in poetry I would spend with God. But it is evi- 
dently his will that I should spend them as I do, because 
every other way of employing them he himself continues to 
make impossible. The dealings of God with me are to 
myself utterly unintelligible. I have never met, either in 
books, or in conversation, with an experience at all similar 
to my own. More than twelve months have now passed 
since I began to hope, that having walked the whole 
breadth of the bottom of this Red Sea, I was beginning to 
climb the opposite shore, and I prepared to sing the song 
of Moses. But I have been disappointed ; those hopes 



170 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COVVPER. 

have been blasted ; those comforts have been wrested from 
me. I could not be so duped even by the arch-enemy 
himself as to be made to question the divine nature of 
them, but I have been made to believe (which you will say 
is being duped still more) that God gave them to me in 
derision, and took them away in vengeance. Such, how- 
ever, is, and has been my persuasion many a long day ; 
and when I shall think on this subject more comfortably, 
or as you will be inclined to tell me, more rationally and 
scripturally, I know not. In the meantime I embrace, 
with alacrity, every alleviation of my case, and with the 
more alacrity, because, whatever proves a relief of my 
distress is a cordial to Mrs. Unwin, whose sympathy with 
me, through the whole of it, has been such, that, despair 
excepted, her burthen has been as heavy as mine." 

Some of his friends, and Mr. Newton among the rest, 
on being apprized of his intended removal from Olney, ex- 
pressed apprehensions that it would introduce him to com- 
pany, uncongenial to his taste, if not detrimental to his 
piety. Adverting to these objections, he thus writes to his 
esteemed correspondent: — " If in the course of such an 
occupation as I have been driven to by despair, or by the 
inevitable consequence of it, either my former connections 
are revived, or new ones occur, these things are as much 
a part of the dispensation of Providence as the leading 
points themselves. If his purposes in thus directing me 
are gracious, he will take care to prove them such in the 
issue • and, in the meantime, will preserve me (for he is able 
to do that, in one condition of life as well as in another) 
from all mistakes that might prove pernicious to myself, 
or give reasonable offence to others. I can say it, as truly 
as it was ever spoken, Here I am ; let him do with me as 
seemeth to him good. At present, however, I have no con- 
nections, at which either you, I trust, or any who love me, 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 171 

and wish me well, have occasion to conceive alarm. Much 
kindness indeed I have experienced at the hands of several, 
some of them near relations, others not related to me at all, 
but I do not know that there is among them a single person 
from whom I am likely to catch contamination. I can say 
of them all, with more truth than Jacob uttered, when he 
called kid venison, " The Lord thy God brought them 
unto me." I could shew you among them two men, whose 
lives, though they have but little of what we call evan- 
gelical light, are ornaments to a Christian country, men 
who fear God more than some who profess to love him. 
But I will not particularize further on such a subject. Be 
they what they may, our situations are so distant, and we 
are likely to meet so seldom, that were they, as they are 
not, persons even of exceptionable manners, their manners 
would have little to do with me. We correspond, at pre- 
sent, only on the subject of what passed at Troy three 
thousand years ago ; and they are matters that, if they can 
do no good, will at least hurt nobody." 

"Your letter to Mrs. Unwin concerning our conduct, 
and the offence taken at it in our neighbourhood, gave us 
both a great deal of concern, and she is still deeply affected 
by it. Of this you may assure yourself, that if our friends 
in London have been grieved, it is because they have been 
misinformed, which is the more probable, because the 
bearers of intelligence hence to London are not always 
very scrupulous concerning the truth of their reports ; and 
that if any of our serious neighbours have been astonished, 
they have been so without the slightest occasion. Poor 
people are never well employed even when they judge one 
another ; but when they undertake to scan the motives, 
and estimate the behaviour, of those whom Providence has 
raised a little above them, they are utterly out of their 
province and their depth. They often see us get into 



172 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Lady Hesketh's carriage, and rather uncharitably suppose 
that it always carries us into a scene of dissipation, which, 
in fact, it never does. We visit, indeed, at Mr. Throck- 
morton's, and at Gayhurst, rarely, however, at the latter, 
on account of the greater distance ; frequently, though not 
very frequently, at Weston, both because it is nearer, and 
because our business in the house, that is making ready 
for our reception, often calls us that way. What good we 
can get or can do in these visits, is another question, which 
they, I am sure, are not qualified to solve. Of this we are 
both sure, that under the guidance of Providence we have 
formed these connections, that we should have hurt the 
Christian cause rather than have served it, by a prudish 
abstinence from them ; and that St. Paul himself, con- 
ducted to them as we have been, would have found it ex- 
pedient to have done as we have done. It is always 
impossible to conjecture to much purpose, from the begin- 
nings of a providential event, how it will terminate. If 
we have neither received nor communicated any spiritual 
good at present, while conversant with our new acquaint- 
ance, at least no harm has befallen on either side ; and it 
were too hazardous an assertion, even for our censorious 
neighbours to make, that the cause of the gospel can never 
be served in any of our future interviews with them, be- 
cause it does not appear to have been served at present. 
In the mean time, I speak a strict truth as in the sight of 
God, when I say that we are neither of us at all more ad- 
dicted to gadding than heretofore. We both naturally 
love seclusion from company, and never go into it without 
putting a force upon our own dispositions ; at the same 
time I will confess, and you will easily conceive, that the 
melancholy incident to such close confinement as we have 
so long endured, finds itself a little relieved by such amuse- 
ments as a society so innocent affords. You may look 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 173 

round the christian world, and find few, I believe, of our 
station, who have so little intercourse as we with the 
world, that is not christian. We place all the uneasiness 
that you have felt for us on the subject, to the account of 
that cordial friendship of which you have long given us a 
proof. But you may be assured, that notwithstanding all 
rumours to the contrary, we are exactly what we were 
when you saw us last : — I, miserable on account of God's 
departure from me, which I believe to be final ; and she 
seeking his return to me in the path of duty, and by con- 
tinual prayer." 

After the publication of Cowper's second volume of 
poems, and indeed, for some considerable time before its 
actual appearance, he was diligently engaged in producing 
a new translation of Homer's unrivalled poems. His rea- 
sons for undertaking a work of so great magnitude, and 
that required such immense labour : and the spirited man- 
ner with which he brought it to a close, shall be related as 
nearly as possible in his own words. Writing to Mr. 
Newton, he thus describes the commencement of this great 
undertaking : " I am employed in writing a narrative, but 
not so useful as that you have just published. Employ- 
ment, however, with the pen, is through habit become es- 
sential to my well being ; and to produce always original 
poems, especially of considerable length, is not so easy. 
For some weeks after I had finished the Task, and sent 
away the last sheet corrected, I was through necessity idle, 
and suffered not a little in my spirits for being so. One 
day, being in such distress of mind as was hardly support- 
able, I took up the Iliad ; and merely to direct attention, 
and with no more preconception of what I was then en- 
tering upon, than I have at this moment of what I shall 
be doing this day twenty years hence, translated the first 
twelve lines of it. The same necessity pressed me again, 



174 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

I had recourse to the same expedient, and translated more. 
Every day bringing its occasion for employment with it, 
every day consequently added something to the work ; till 
at last I began to reflect thus : — The Iliad and the Odyssey 
together consists of about forty thousand verses. To trans- 
late these forty thousand verses will furnish me with occu- 
pation for a considerable time. I have already made some 
progress, and find it a most agreeable amusement. Homer, 
in point of purity, is a most blameless writer, and though 
he was not an enlightened man, has interspersed many 
great and valuable truths throughout both his poems. In 
short, he is in all respects a most venerable old gentleman, 
by an acqunintance with whom no man can disgrace him- 
self ; the literati are all agreed to a man, that although 
Pope has given us two pretty poems, under Homer's title, 
there is not to be found in them the least portion of Homer's 
spirit, nor the least resemblance of his manner. I will 
try, therefore, whether I cannot copy him more happily 
myself. I have at least the advantage of Pope's faults 
and failings, which like so many beacons upon a dangerous 
coast, will serve me to steer by, and will make my chance 
for success more probable, These, and many other con- 
siderations, but especially a mind that abhorred a vacuum 
as its chief bane, impelled me so effectually to the work, 
that ere long, I mean to publish proposals for a subscrip- 
tion of it, having advanced so far as to be warranted in 
doing so." 

In another letter to the same correspondent, the follow- 
ing just and critical remarks on Pope's translation occur. 
" Your sentiments of Pope's Homer agree perfectly with 
those of every competent judge with whom I have at any 
time conversed about it. I never saw a copy so unlike the 
original. There is not, I believe, in all the world to be 
found, an uninspired poem so simple as are both those of 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 175 

Homer ; nor in all the world a poem more bedizened with 
ornaments than Pope's translation of them. Accordingly, 
the sublime of Homer in the hands of Pope becomes 
bloated and tumid, and his description tawdry. Neither 
had Pope the faintest conception of those exquisite discri- 
minations of character for which Homer is so remarkable. 
All his persons, and equally upon all occasions, speak in 
an inflated and strutting phraseology, as Pope has ma- 
naged them; although in the original, the dignity of their 
utterance, even when they are most majestic, consists prin- 
cipally in the simplicity of their sentiments, aud of their 
language. Another censure I must pass upon our Anglo- 
Grecian, out of many that obtrude themselves upon me, 
but for which I have now neither time nor room to spare, 
which is, that with all his great abilities, he was defective 
in his feelings to a degree, that some passages in his own 
poems make it difficult to acoount for. No writer more 
pathetic than Homer, because none more natural ; and 
because none less natural than Pope, in his version of 
Homer, therefore, than he, none less pathetic. One of 
the great faults of Pope's translation is, that it is licen- 
tious. To publish, therefore, a translation that should 
be at all chargeable with the same fault, would be useless. 
Whatever will be said of mine, when it does appear, it shall 
never be said that it is not faithful. I thank you heartily 
both for your wishes and prayers, that should a disappoint- 
ment occur, I may not be too much hurt by it. Strange 
as it may seem to say it, and unwilling as I should be to 
say it to any person less candid than yourself, I will ne- 
vertheless say that I have not entered upon this work, un- 
connected as it must needs appear with the cause of God, 
without the direction of his providence, nor have I been 
altogether unassisted by him in the performance of it. 
Time will show to what it ultimately tends. I am inclined 



176 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



to think that it has a tendency, to which I myself am at 
present a perfect stranger. Be that as it may, he knows 
my frame, and will consider that I am dust, and dust too 
that has been so trampled under foot, and beaten, that a 
storm less violent than an unsuccessful issue of such a 
business might occasion, would be sufficient to blow me 
quite away. As I know not to what end this my present 
occupation may finally lead, so neither did I know when I 
wrote it, or at all suspect, one valuable end, at least, that 
was to be answered by the Task. It has pleased God to 
prosper it ; and being composed in blank verse, it is likely 
to prove as seasonable an introduction to a blank verse 
Homer, by the same hand, as any that could have been 
devised ; yet when I wrote the last line of the Task, I as 
little suspected that I should ever engage in a version of 
the old Asiatic tale, as you do now." 

Having undertaken a work that required so much labour, 
he bestowed upon it the utmost pains, and allowed nothing 
to divert his attention from it. In his correspondence the 
following remarks occur. " The little time that I can de- 
vote to any other purpose than that of poetry, is, as you 
may suppose, stolen. Homer is urgent; much is done, 
and much still remains undone, and no school-boy is more 
attentive to the performance of his daily task than I am. — 
In truth, my time is very much occupied ; and the more 
so, because I not only have a long and laborious work in 
hand, — for such it would prove at any rate, — but because I 
make it a point to bestow my utmost attention to it, and to 
give it all the finishing that the most scrupulous accuracy 
can command. As soon as breakfast is over, I retire to my 
nutshell of a summer-house, which is my verse manufac- 
tory, and here I abide seldom less than three hours, and 
not often more. In the afternoon I return to it again; and 
all the daylight that follows, except what is sometimes de- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 177 

voted to a walk, is given to Homer. It is well for me, 
that a course which is now become necessary, is so much 
my choice. Assure yourself, therefore, that when at any 
time it happens that I am in arrears in my correspondence 
with you, neither neglect nor idleness is the cause. I have 
a daily occupation of forty lines to translate, a task which 
I never excuse myself from, when it is possible to perform 
it. Equally sedulous I am in the matter of transcribing, 
so that between both, my mornings and evenings are, for 
the most part, completely engaged. Add to this, that 
though my spirits are seldom so bad but I can write verse, 
they are often at so low an ebb as to make the production 
of a letter impossible. I am now in the twentieth book of 
Homer, and shall assuredly proceed, because the farther I 
go the more I find myself justified in the undertaking ; and 
in due time, if I live, shall assuredly publish. In the whole 
I shall have composed about forty thousand verses, about 
which forty thousand verses, I shall have taken great pains, 
on no occasion suffering a slovenly line to escape me. I 
leave you to guess, therefore, whether, such a labour once 
achieved, I shall not determine to turn it to some account, 
and to gain myself profit by it if I can ; if not, at least, some 
credit for my reward. Till I had made such a progress in 
my present undertaking as to put it out of all doubt, that, 
if I lived, I should proceed in, and finish it, I kept the mat- 
ter to myself. It would have done me little honour to 
have told my friends, that I had an arduous enterprize in 
hand, if afterwards I must have told them that I had drop- 
ped it. Knowing it to have been universally the opinion 
of the literati, ever since they have allowed themselves to 
consider the matter coolly, that a translation, properly so 
called, of Homer, is, notwithstanding what Pope has done, 
a desideratum in the English language ; it struck me that 
an attempt to supply the deficiency would be an honour- 



178 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

able one, and having made myself, in former years, some 
what critically, master of the original, I was by this dou- 
ble consideration, induced to make the attempt myself. — 
I am now translating into blank verse the last book of the 
Illiad, and mean to publish by subscription. I wish that 
all English readers had an unsophisticated and unadulter- 
ated taste, and could relish real simplicity. But, I am 
well aware, that in this respect, I am under a disadvantage, 
and that many, especially many ladies, missing many 
pretty turns of expression that they have admired in Pope, 
will account my translation, in those particulars, defective. 
But, I comfort myself with the thought that in reality it is 
no defect ; on the contrary, that the want of all such em- 
bellishments as do not belong to the original, will be one of 
its principal merits, with persons really capable of relish- 
ing Homer. He is the best poet that ever lived for many 
reasons, but for none more than that majestic plainness 
that distinguishes him from all others. As an accomplished 
person moves gracefully without thinking of it, in like man- 
ner, the dignity of Homer seems to have cost him no labour. 
It was natural to him to say great things, and to say them 
well, and little ornaments were beneath his notice." 

The following extract will show that no person ever ap- 
peared before the public in a work of any literary import- 
ance, with more correct views of its legitimate claims under 
such circumstances. " I thank you for your friendly hints 
and precautions, and shall not fail to give them the guid- 
ance of my pen. I respect the public, and I respect myself, 
and had rather want bread than expose myself wantonly 
to the condemnation of either. I hate the affectation so 
frequently found in authors, of negligence and slovenliness, 
and in the present case am sensible how necessary it is to 
shun them, when I undertake the vast and invidious labour 
of doing better than Pope has done before me. I thank 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ]79 

you for all that you have said and done in my cause, and 
before-hand for all that you shall say and do hereafter. I 
am sure that there will be no deficiency on your part. On 
my own part I assure you that no pains shall be wanted to 
make the work as complete as possible. I am now in a 
scene of perfect tranquillity and the profoundest silence, 
kicking up the dust of heroic narrative and besieging Troy 
again. I told you that I had almost finished the transla- 
tion of the Iliad, and I verily thought so. But I was never 
more mistaken. By the time when I had reached the end 
of the poem, the first book of my version was a twelve- 
month old. When I came to consider it, after having laid 
it by so long, it did not satisfy me ; I set myself to mend it, 
and did so. But still it appeared to me improvable, and 
that nothing would so effectually secure that point as to 
give the whole book a new translation. With the excep- 
tion of a very few lines, I have so done, and was never, in 
my life so convinced of the soundness of Horace's advice to 
publish nothing in haste ; so much advantage have I de- 
rived from doing that twice which I thought I had accom- 
plished notably at once. He, indeed, recommends nine 
years imprisonment of your verses before you send them 
abroad ; but the ninth part of that time, is, I believe, as 
much as there is need of to open a man's eyes upon his own 
defects, and to secure him from the danger of premature 
self-approbation. Neither ought it to be forgotten, that 
nine years make so wide an interval between the cup and 
the lip, that a thousand things may fall out between. New 
engagements may occur, which may make the finishing of 
that which a poet has begun impossible. In nine years he 
may rise into a situation, or he may sink into one, utterly 
incompatible with his purpose. His constitution may 
break in nine years, and sickness may disqualify him for 
improving what he enterprized in the clays of his health. — 

n 2 



180 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

His inclination may change, and he may find some other 
employment more agreeable ; or another poet may enter 
upon the same work, and get the start of him. Therefore, 
my friend Horace, though I acknowledge your principle to 
be good, I must confess the practice you would ground it 
upon is carried to an extreme. The rigour that I exercised 
upon the first book, I intend to exercise upon all that fol- 
low, and have now actually advanced into the middle of 
the seventh, nowhere admitting more than one line in fifty 
of the first translation. You must not imagine that I had 
been careless and hasty in the first instance. In truth, 1 
had not ; but, in rendering so excellent a poet as Homer 
into our language, there are so many points to be attended 
to, both in respect of language and numbers, that a first 
attempt must be fortunate indeed if it does not call aloud 
for a second. You saw the specimen, and you saw (1 am 
sure) one great fault in it ; T mean the harshness of some 
of the elisions. I do not altogether take the blame of these 
to myself, for into some of them I have been absolutely 
driven and hunted by a series of reiterated objections, made 
by a critical friend, whose scruples and delicacies teazed 
me almost out of all patience." 

With a view to make his translation as perfect as possi- 
ble, Cowper, before he committed it to the press, availed 
himself of the assistance of several eminent critics, from 
some of whom he derived considerable assistance, which, 
at every convenient opportunity, he very readily and grate- 
fully acknowledged. The remarks of others, however, to 
whose notice he had been persuaded to submit parts of his 
manuscript, were so frivolous and perfectly hypercritical, 
as to occasion him considerable vexation. Of this, the 
closing remarks of the last, and the whole of the following 
extract will afford ample proof. " The vexation and per- 
plexity that attends a multiplicity of criticisms by various 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 181 

hands, many of which are sure to be futile, many of them 
unfounded, and some of them contradictory to others, is 
inconceivable, except by the author, whose ill-fated work 
happens to be the subject of them. This also appears to 
me self-evident, that if a work have passed under the re- 
view of one man of taste and learning, and have had the 
good fortune to please him, his approbation gives security 
for that of all others qualified like himself. I speak thus, 
after having just escaped such a storm of trouble, occa- 
sioned by endless remarks, hints, suggestions, and objec- 
tions, as drove me almost to despair, and to the very verge 
of a resolution to drop my undertaking for ever. With in- 
finite difficulty, I at last sifted the chaff from the wheat, 
availed myself of what appeared to me just, and rejected 
the rest, but not till the labour and anxiety had nearly un- 
done all that one judicious critic had been doing for me. — 
I assure you, I can safely say, that vanity and self-import- 
ance had nothing to do in all this distress that I suffered. 
It was merely the effect of an alarm that I could not help 
taking, when T compared the great trouble I had with a 
few lines only thus handled, with that which I foresaw 
such handling of the whole must necessarily give me. I 
felt beforehand that my constitution would not bear it. 
Though Johnson's friend has teased me sadly, I verily 
believe that I shall have no more such cause to complain 
of Mm. We now understand one another, and I firmly 
believe that I might have gone the world through before I 
had found his equal in an accurate and familiar acquaint- 
ance with the original. Though he is a foreigner, he has a 
perfect knowledge of the English language, and can con- 
sequently appreciate its beauties, as well as discover its 
defects. 

" The animadversions of the critic you sent me, hurt me 
more than they would have done, had they come from a 



]32 TH E LI FE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

person from whom I might have expected such treatment. 
In part they appeared to me unjust, and in part illnatured ; 
and, the man himself being an oracle in almost every body's 
account, I apprehended that he had done me much mis- 
chief. Why he says that the translation is far from exact 
is best known to himself. For I know it to be as exact as 
is compatible with poetry ; and prose translations of Homer 
are not wanted. The world has one already. I am greatly 
pleased with the amendments of a friend, to whom I sent 
a specimen, which he has returned amended with so much 
taste and candour, and accompanied with so many expres- 
sions of kindness, that it quite charmed me. He has chiefly 
altered the lines incumbered with elisions, and I will just 
take this opportunity to tell you, because I know you to be 
as much interested in what I write as myself, that some of 
the most offensive of these elisions were occasioned by 
mere criticism. I was fairly hunted into them by vexatious 

objections, made without end by , and his friends, 

and altered, and altered, till at last I scarcely cared how I 
altered. I am not naturally insensible, and the sensibilities 
I had by nature have been wonderfully enhanced by a long 
series of shocks, given to a frame of nerves that was never 
very athletic. I feel accordingly, whether painful or plea- 
sant, in the extreme ; am easily elevated, and easily cast 
down. The power of a critic freezes my poetical powers, 
and discourages me to such a degree, that makes me 
ashamed of my own weakness. Yet I presently recover 
my confidence again, especially when I have every reason 
to believe, as in the case you refer to, that a critic's cen- 
sures are harsh and unreasonable, and arise more from his 
own wounded and mortified feelings, than from any defect 
in the work itself." 

Notwithstanding the irritation produced in the mind of 
the poet by the trifling amendments and vexatious criticisms 



THE LIFEJOF WILLIAM COWPER. 183 

of some whom he had been persuaded to consult, he never- 
theless persevered in the translation, with undiminished 
activity, and gave abundant proof that he possessed that 
real greatness of mind which alone could enable him to 
undertake and accomplish a work of so great magnitude. 
To Lady Hesketh he thus discloses the state of his mind 
in this respect. * Your anxious wishes for my success de- 
light me, and you may rest assured that I have all the 
ambition on the subject that you can wish me to feel. I 
more than admire my author. I often stand astonished at 
his beauties. I am for ever amused with the translation 
of him, and I have received a thousand encouragements : 
these are all so many happy omens, that I hope will be 
verified by the event. I am not ashamed to confess that, 
having commenced an author, I am most abundantly de- 
sirous to succeed as such. I have (what perhaps you little 
suspect me of) in my nature an infinite share of ambition. 
But with it, I have at the same time, as you will know, an 
equal share of diffidence. To this combination of opposite 
qualities it has been owing, that till lately, I stole through 
life without undertaking any thing, yet always wishing to 
distinguish myself. At last I ventured, ventured too in 
the only path that, at so late a period, was yet open to me, 
and am determined, if God have not determined otherwise, 
to work my way through the obscurity that has been so 
long my portion, into notice. Every thing, therefore, that 
seems to threaten this my favourite purpose, with disap- 
pointment, affects me severely. I suppose that all ambitious 
minds are in the same predicament. He who seeks distinc- 
tion must be sensible of dispprobation, exactly in the same 
proportion as he desires applause. I have thus, my dear 
cousin, unfolded my heart to you in this particular, without 
a speck of dissimulation. Some people, and good people 
too, would blame me, but you will not ; and they, I think, 



184 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

would blame without just cause. We certainly do not 
honour God when we bury, or when we neglect to improve, 
as far as we can, whatever talent he may have bestowed 
upon us, whether it be little or much. In natural things, 
as well as spiritual, it is a never-failing truth, that to him 
who hath, (that is to him who employs what he hath dili- 
gently, and so as to increase it) more shall be given. Set 
me down, therefore, my dear cousin, for an industrious 
rhymer, so long as I shall have ability. For in this only 
way is it possible for me, so far as I can see, either to 
honour God, or to serve men, or even to serve myself." 

In reply to the apprehensions expressed by some of his 
correspondents, that the confinement and close application 
which this work necessarily required, would prove inju- 
rious to his health, and be likely to increase his depression, 
he made the following remarks. u You may well wonder 
at my courage, who have undertaken a work of such enor- 
mous length, you would wonder more if you knew I trans- 
lated the whole Iliad, with no other help than a Clavis. 
But I have since equipped myself for this immense jour- 
ney, and am revising the work in company with a good 
commentator. I thank you for the solicitude you express 
on the subject of my present studies. The work is un- 
doubtedly long and laborious, but it has an end, and pro- 
ceeding leisurely, with a due attention to air and exercise, 
it is possible that I may live to finish it. Assure yourself 
of one thing, that though to a bystander, it may seem an 
occupation surpassing the powers of a constitution never 
very athletic, and, at present, not a little the worse for 
wear, I can invent for myself no employment that does 
not exhaust my spirits more. I will not pretend to ac- 
count for this, I will only say that it is not the language of 
predilection for a favourite amusement, but that the fact 
is really so. I have ever found that those plaything avo- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEIt. 185 

cations which one may execute almost without any atten- 
tion, fatigue me, and wear me away, while such as engage 
me much, and attach me closely, are rather serviceable to 
me than otherwise." 

During the whole of Cowper's residence at Olney, he 
retained the same sentiments of affectionate sympathy for 
the sufferings of the poor that he had evinced when he 
first came among them. And though he had experienced 
some painful proofs of their insensibility, ingratitude, and 
unkindness, yet his heart had often been made to rejoice 
with those, whom, either his own liberality, or the liberality 
of his friends had enabled him to relieve. Aware that 
it afforded him so much pleasure to be employed in com- 
municating happiness to others, his friends often placed at 
his disposal such things as they felt inclined to distribute. 
The following interesting extract from a letter to Mr. Un- 
win, proves how highly he was gratified in being thus 
benevolently employed. " I have thought with pleasure 
of the summer that you have had in your heart, while you 
have been employed in softening the severity of winter, in 
behalf of so many who must otherwise have been exposed 
to it. You never said a better thing in your life than when 
you assured Mr. of the expedience of a gift of bed- 
ding to the poor at Olney. There is no one article of this 
world's comforts, with which, as Falstaff says, they are so 
heinously unprovided. When a poor woman, and an 
honest one, whom we know well, carried home two pair of 
blankets, a pair for herself and husband, and a pair for her 
six children, that you kindly placed at my disposal, as 
soon as the children saw them, they jumped out of their 
straw, caught them in their arms, kissed them, blessed 
them, and danced for joy. An old woman, a very old one, 
the first night that she found herself so comfortably co- 
vered, could not sleep a wink, being kept awake by the 



136 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

contrary emotions of transport on the one hand, and the 
fear of not being thankful enough on the other." 

After the publication of Cowper's second volume, and 
previous to his removal from Olney, he had renewed his 
correspondence with some relatives and friends with whom 
he had formerly been on terms of intimacy, but who seemed 
almost to have forgotten him, until the popularity of his 
publications arrested their attention. Among these were 
General Cowper, and Rev. Walter Bagot. Cowper's letters 
to the latter prove that his attachment to him was not 
slight and superficial, but deep and fervent. In February, 
1786, it pleased God to deprive Mr. Bagot of his amiable 
and accomplished wife, who was respected and beloved 
by all who knew her. On this melancholy occasion Cowper 
wrote to him as follows : " Alas ! alas ! my dear, dear 
friend, may God himself comfort you ! I will not be so 
absurd as to attempt it. By the close of your letter, it 
should seem that in this hour of great trial, he withholds 
not his consolations from you. I know by experience that 
they are neither few nor small ; and though I feel for you 
as I never felt for man before, yet do I sincerely rejoice in 
this, that, whereas there is but one comforter in the uni- 
verse, under afflictions such as yours, you both know Him, 
and know where to seek Him. I thought you a man the 
most happily mated that I had ever seen, and had great 
pleasure in your felicity. Pardon me, if now I feel a wish, 
that, short as my acquaintance with her was, I had never 
seen her, I should then have mourned with you, but not as 
I do now. Mrs. Unwin also sympathizes with you most 
sincerely, and you neither are, nor will be soon forgotten, 
in such prayers as we can make. I will not detain you 
longer now, my poor afflicted friend, than to commit you 
to the mercy of God, and to bid you a sorrowful adieu. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. ]87 

May God be with you, my friend, and give you a just 
measure of submission to his will, the most effectual 
remedy for the evils of this changing scene. I doubt not 
that he has granted you this blessing already, and may 
he still continue it." 



188 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Pleasure he enjoyed in his new residence — Sudden death of Mrs. Un- 
wind son — Cowper's distress on the occasion — Experiences a 
severe attack of illness — Is compelled to relinquish, for a time, 
his labours of translation — Mr. Rose's first visit to him — His 
sudden recovery — Manner of spending his time — Peculiarities 
of his case — Is dissuaded from resuming his translation — His 
determination to persevere in it — Applies to it with the utmost 
diligence — Great care with which he translated it — His admiration 
of the original — Providential preservation of Mrs. Unwin — His 
painful depression unremoved. 

By the end of November, 1786, Cowper was comfortably 
settled in his new residence at Weston. The house was 
delightfully situated, very near that of his friendly and 
accomplished landlord, Sir John Throckmorton, with whom 
he was now on terms of intimacy, and who had given him 
the full use of his spacious and agreeable pleasure grounds. 
This afforded him an opportunity, at almost all seasons, of 
taking that degree of exercise in the open air, which he 
always found so conducive to his health. The following 
extracts from his first letter to Lady Hesketh, after en- 
tering on his new abode, describes the state of his feelings, 
and proves how truly he enjoyed the change. " November 
26, 1826. It is my birth-day, my beloved cousin, and I 
determine to employ a part of it that is not destitute of 
festivity, in writing to you. The dark thick fog that has 
obscured it, would have been a burthen to me at Olney, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 189 

but here I have hardly attended to it. The neatness and 
snugness of our abode, compensates for all the dreariness 
of the season, and whether the ways are wet or dry, our 
house at least, is always warm and commodious. Oh ! for 
you my cousin, to partake of these comforts with us ! I 
will not begin already to tease you upon that subject, but 
Mrs. Unwin remembers to have heard from your own lips, 
that you hate London in the spring, perhaps, therefore, by 
that time, you may be glad to escape from a scene which 
will be every day growing more disagreeable, that you may 
enjoy the comforts of the Lodge. You well know that the 
best house has a desolate appearance unfurnished. This 
house accordingly, since it has been occupied by us, and 
our meubles, is as much superior to what it was when you 
saw it, as you can imagine ; the parlour is even elegant. 
When I say that the parlour is elegant, I do mean to insi- 
nuate that the study is not so. It is neat, warm, and 
silent, and a much better study than I deserve, if I do not 
produce in it an incomparable translation of Homer. I 
think every day of those lines of Milton, and congratulate 
myself on having obtained, before I am quite superannuated, 
what he seems not to have hoped for sooner." 
" And may at length my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage." 

" For if it is not a hermitage, at least it is a much better 
thing, and you must always understand, my dear, that 
when poets talk of cottages, hermitages, and such like 
things, they mean a house with six sashes in front, two 
comfortable parlours, a smart stair-case, and three bed- 
chambers, of convenient dimensions ; in short, exactly such 
a house as this." 

The Throckmortons continue the most obliging neigh- 
bours in the world. One morning last week, they both 
went with me to the cliffs — a scene, my dear, in which 



190 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

you would delight beyond measure, but which you cannot 
visit except in the spring, or autumn. The heat of sum- 
mer and clinging dirt of winter would destroy you. What 
is called the cliff, is no cliff, nor at all like one, but a beau- 
tiful terrace, sloping gently down to the base, and from the 
brow of which, though it is not lofty, you have a view of 
such a valley, as makes that which you saw from the hills 
near Olney, and which I have had the honour to celebrate, 
an affair of no consideration." 

" Wintry as the weather is, do not suspect that it con- 
fines me. I ramble daily, and every day change my ramble. 
Wherever I go, I find short grass under my feet, and when 
I have travelled perhaps, five miles, come home with shoes 
not at all too dirty for a drawing room." 

Cowper was scarcely settled in his new abode, and had 
hardly had time to participate of its enjoyments, before an 
event occurred, which plunged both him and Mrs. Unwin 
into the deepest distress. It pleased God, who does every 
thing according to his will, with angels as well as with 
men, all whose dispensations, mysterious as some of them 
may appear, are conducted on principles of unerring wis- 
dom, and infinite benevolence, to remove from this scene 
of toil and labour, to regions of peace and happiness, Mrs. 
Unwin's son, in the prime of life, and in a manner the 
most sudden and unexpected. Cowper had always loved 
him as a brother, and had most unreservedly communi- 
cated his mind to him, on all occasions. Their attachment 
to each other was mutually strong, cordial, and affection- 
ate. The loss of such a friend could not fail to make a 
deep impression on the poet's mind, and the following ex- 
tracts will show how much he felt on the occasion. " I 
find myself here situated exactly to my mind. Weston is 
one of the prettiest villages in England, the walks about it 
arc at all seasons of the year delightful. We had just be- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 191 

gun to enjoy the pleasantness of our new situation, to find 
at least as much comfort in it as the season of the year 
would permit, when affliction found us out in our retreat, 
and the news reached us of the death of Mr. Unwin. He 
had taken a western tour with Mr. Henry Thornton, and 
on his return, at Winchester, was seized with a putrid fever, 
which sent him to his grave. He is gone to it, however, 
though young, as fit for it as age itself could have made 
him. Regretted indeed, and always to be regretted, by 
those who knew him ; for he had every thing that makes a 
man valuable, both in his principles and in his manners, 
but leaving still this consolation to his surviving friends ; 
that he was desirable in this world, chiefly because he was 
so well prepared for a better." 

u The death of one whom I valued as I did Mr. Unwin, 
is a subject on which I could say much, and with much 
feeling. But habituated as my mind has been these many 
years to melancholy themes, I am glad to excuse myself 
the contemplation of them as much as possible. I will 
only observe that the death of so young a man, whom I 
saw so lately in good health, and whose life was so desir- 
able on every account, has something in it peculiarly dis- 
tressing. I cannot think of the widow and the children 
he has left without an heart ache that I remember not to 
have felt before. We may well say that the ways of God 
are mysterious : in truth they are so, and to a degree that 
only such events can give us any conception of. Mrs. 
Unwin's life has been so much a life of affliction, that 
whatever occurs to her in that shape, has not, at least, the 
terrors of novelty to embitter it. She is supported under 
this, as she has been under a thousand others, with a sub- 
mission of which I never saw her deprived for a moment." 

" Though my experience has long since taught me that 
this world is a world of shadows, and that it is the more 



]92 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

prudent, as well as the more christian course, to possess 
the comforts that we find in it, as if we possessed them 
not, it is no easy matter to reduce this doctrine to practice. 
We forget that that God who gave them, may, when he 
pleases, take them away ; and that, perhaps, it may please 
him to take them away at a time when we least expect it, 
and are least disposed to part with them. Thus it has 
happened in the present case. There never was a moment 
in Unwin's life when there seemed to be more urgent want 
of him than the moment in which he died. He had at- 
tained to an age, when, if they are at any time useful, men 
become more useful to their families, their friends, and the 
world. His parish began to feel, and to be sensible of the 
value of his ministry; his children were thriving under his 
own tuition and management. The removal of a man in 
the prime of life, of such a character, and with such connec- 
tions, seems to make a void in society that can never be 
filled. God seemed to have made him just what he was, 
that he might be a blessing to others, and when the influ- 
ence of his character and abilities began to be felt, removed 
him. These are mysteries that we cannot contemplate 
without astonishment, but which will nevertheless be ex- 
plained hereafter, and must in the mean time, be revered 
in silence. It is well for Mrs. Unwin that she has spent 
her life in the practice of an habitual acquiescence in the 
dispensation of Providence, else I know that this stroke 
would have been heavier, after all, that she has suffered 
upon another account, than she could have borne. She 
derives, as she well may, great consolation from the 
thought that he lived the life, and died the death of a 
christian. The consequence is, if possible more certain 
than the most mathematical conclusion, that therefore he 
is happy." 

Cowper had scarcely given vent to his feelings on the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 193 

melancholy occurrence of Mr. Unwin's decease, when 
he was himself again visited by severe indisposition. 
His depressive malady returned, with all its baleful conse- 
quences, and prevented him for more than six months, 
either from doing any thing with his translation of Homer, 
or carrying on his correspondence with his friends, or even 
from enjoying the conversation of those with whom he 
was most intimately associated, and whom he loved most 
affectionately. It is highly probable, that the painful 
feelings, occasioned by a too frequent recurrence to the ap- 
parently disastrous consequences, that must be the result 
of his friend's removal, occasioned this attack. His mind 
bore up under the first shock with comparative firmness, 
but his intense feelings, perhaps, pictured its remote ef- 
fects in colours much more gloomy than were ever likely 
to be realized. Such seems to have been the case with him 
at the death of his brother. He attended him in his dying 
hours, saw him gradually sink into the arms of death, ar- 
ranged all the affairs of his funeral, and then, when other 
persons less susceptible of feeling, would in all probability 
have forgotten the event, his apprehensive mind invested 
it with imaginary horrors that were to him insupportable. 
This affliction of Cowper's commenced in the early part 
of January, 1787. In his letters to his cousin, he thus 
adverts to the first symptoms of it. " I have had a little 
nervous fever lately that has somewhat abridged my 
sleep, and though I find myself better to-day than I have 
been since it seized me, yet I feel my head lightish, and 
not in the best order for writing.' 1 In the next letter to 
the same correspondent, written about a week afterwards — 
the last he wrote to any of his correspondents until his re- 
covery, he again adverts to the progress of his complaint. 
" I have been so much indisposed with the nervous fever, 
that I told you in my last had seized me, my nights, during 

o 



194 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

the whole week, may be said to have been almost sleepless. 
The consequence has been that, except the translation of 
about thirty lines at the conclusion of the thirteenth book, 
I have been forced to abandon Homer entirely. This was 
a sensible mortification to me as you may suppose, and felt 
the more, because my spirits of course failing with my 
strength, I seemed to have peculiar need of my old amuse- 
ment. It seemed hard, therefore, to be forced to resign it, 
just when I wanted it most. But Homer's battles cannot 
be fought by a man who does not sleep well, and who has 
not some little degree of animation in the day time. Last 
night, however, quite contrary to my expectation, the fever 
left me entirely, and I slept soundly, quietly, and long. 
If it please God that it return not, I shall soon find myself 
in a condition to proceed. I walk constantly, that is to 
say, Mrs. Unwin and I together : for at these times I keep 
her continually employed, and never suffer her to be absent 
from me many minutes. She gives me all her time, and 
all her attention, and forgets that there is another object 
in the world besides myself." 

.About this time, that intimacy between Cowper and Sa- 
muel Rose, Esq., which subsequently ripened into a friend- 
ship that nothing but death could dissolve, commenced. 
At the close of the letter from which we made our last ex- 
tract, Cowper thus adverts to the circumstance. " A 
young gentleman called here yesterday, who came six miles 
out of his way to see me. He was on a journey to London 
from Glasgow, having just left the university there. He 
came, I suppose, partly to satisfy his own curiosity, but 
chiefly, as it seemed, to bring me the thanks of some of 
the Scotch professors for my two volumes. His name is 
Rose, an Englishman, Your spirits being good, you will 
derive more pleasure from this incident than I can at pre- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 195 

sent, therefore I send it." Notwithstanding the depression 
of mind which Cowper was beginning again to experience, 
when this unexpected interview between him and Mr. Rose 
took place, and his consequent aversion to the visits of any 
one, but especially strangers, yet he was so highly pleased 
with his new friend, that he commenced a correspondence 
with him immediately on recovering his health ; and he ever 
regarded it as a providential circumstance, and a token of 
the goodness of God towards him, in giving him a friend and 
a correspondent, who, in some measure, at least, supplied 
the loss he had experienced by the death of Mr. Unwin. 

In February, 1787, Cowper's depressive malady had 
so greatly increased that his mind became again en- 
veloped in the deepest gloom. The following extracts 
from his letters, written after his recovery, which took 
place in the ensuing autumn, will best describe the pain- 
ful and distressing state to which he was reduced : — 
" My indisposition could not be of a worse kind. Had 
I been afflicted with a fever, or confined by a broken 
bone, neither of these cases would have made it impos- 
ble that we should meet. I am truly sorry that the im- 
pediment was insurmountable while it lasted, for such, in 
fact, it was. The sight of any face, except Mrs. Unwin's, 
was to me an insupportable grievance ; and when it has 
happened, that by forcing himself into my hiding place, 
some friend has found me out, he has had no great cause 
to exult in his success, as Mr. Bull could tell you. From 
this dreadful condition of mind, I emerged suddenly ; 
so suddenly that Mrs. Unwin, having no notice of such 
a change herself, could give none to any body : and when 
it obtained, how long it might last, and how far it might 
be depended upon, was a matter of the greatest uncer- 
tainty. It afreets me on the recollection with the more 

o2 



]96 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

concern, because it has deprived me of an interview with 
you, and has prevented you from visiting others who 
would have been very glad to see you." 

In the midst of Cowper's severe attack, his friend, Mr. 
Rose, paid him another visit, and was greatly distressed 
to find him reduced to such a degree of wretchedness, 
that he could not be prevailed upon to converse with him 
on any subject. Cowper, as soon as he began to feel the 
slightest symptoms of recovery, recollected the great sym- 
pathy and disinterested kindness of his new friend, and 
he took care to present him with the first productions of his 
pen. In the last week of July, 1787, he thus addressed 
him : — tl This is the first time I have written this six months ; 
and nothing but the constraint of obligation could induce 
me to write now. I cannot be so wanting to myself as not 
to endeavour, at least, to thank you, both for the visits 
with which you have favoured me, and the poem that 
you have sent me. In my present state of mind I taste 
nothing, nevertheless I read, — partly from habit, and 
partly because it is the only thing I am capable of." A 
month afterwards he again wrote to the same corres- 
pondent. " I have not yet taken up my pen, except to 
write to you. The little taste that I have had of your 
company, and your kindness in finding me out, make me 
wish that we were nearer neighbours, and that there were 
not so great a disparity in our years ; that is to say, not 
that you were older, but that I was younger. Could we 
have met early in life, I flatter myself that we might have 
been more intimate than now we are likely to be. But 
you shall not find me slow to cultivate such a measure of 
your regard as your friends of your own age can spare 
me. I hope the same kindness, which has prompted you 
twice to call on me, will prompt you again ; and I shall 
be happy, if, on a future occasion, I shall be able to give 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. I97 

you a more cheerful reception than can be expected from 
an invalid. My health and spirits are considerably im- 
proved, and I once more associate with my neighbours. 
My head, however, has been the worst part of me, and still 
continues so; is subject to giddiness and pain, maladies 
very unfavourable to poetical employment : but I feel some 
encouragement to hope that I may possibly, before long, 
find myself able to resume the translation of Homer. 
When I cannot walk, I read, and read perhaps more than 
is good for me. But I cannot be idle. The only mercy 
that I shew myself in this respect is, that I read nothing 
that requires much closeness of application." 

Cowper was now recovered sufficiently to resume his 
correspondence with Lady Hesketh, and the following ex- 
tracts will throw some additional light on the gradually 
improving state of his health, and on the manner in which 
he then spent his time. " My dear cousin, though it costs 
me something to write, it would cost me more to be silent. 
My intercourse with my neighbours being renewed, I can 
no longer forget how many reasons there are, why you es- 
pecially should not be neglected ; no neighbour, indeed, but 
the kindest of my friends, and ere long, I hope an inmate. 
My health and spirits seem to be mending daily. To what 
end I know not, neither will conjecture, but endeavour, as 
far as I can, to be content that they do so. I use exercise, 
and take the air in the park ; I read much ; have lately 
read Savary's Travels in Egypt; Memoirs of Baron du 
Tott; Fenn's Original Letters; the Letters of Frederick of 
Bohemia; and am now reading Memoirs d'Henri de Lor- 
raine, Due de Guise. I have also read Barclay's Argenis, 
a Latin romance, and the best romance that was ever writ- 
ten. All these, together with Madan's letters to Priestly, 
and several pamphlets, I have read within these two 
months. So that you will say I am a great reader. I, 



198 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

however, write but little, because writing is become new to 
me ; but I shall come on by degrees, and hope to regain 
the use of my pen before long. Oar friends at the Hall 
make themselves more and more amiable in our account, 
by treating us rather as old friends, than as friends newly 
acquired. There are few days in which we do not meet, 
and I am now almost as much at home in their house as 
in my own. I have the free use of their library, an acqui- 
sition of great value to me, as I cannot live without books. 
By this means, I have been so well supplied, that I have 
not yet even looked at the Lounger, which you were so 
kind as to send me. His turn comes next, and I shall 
probably begin him to-morrow." 

Cowper's correspondence with Mr. Newton, had now been 
suspended for some months. In the beginning of the ensu- 
ing October he renewed it ; and the following extracts will 
afford some interesting information respecting the peculiarity 
of his case. " My Dear Friend — After a long but necessary 
interruption of our correspondence, I return to it again, in 
one respect, at least, better qualified for it than before ; I 
mean by a belief of your identity, which for thirteen years, 
strange and unaccountable as it may appear, I did not be- 
lieve. The acquisition of this light, if light it may be 
called, which leaves me as much in the dark as ever, on 
the most interesting subjects, releases me, however, from 
the most disagreeable suspicion that I am addressing myself 
to you as the friend whom I loved and valued so highly 
in my better days, while in fact you are not that friend but 
a stranger. I can now write to you without seeming to act 
a part, and without having any need to charge myself with 
dissimulation ; a charge from which, in that state of mind, 
and under such an uncomfortable persuasion, I knew not 
how to exculpate myself, and which, as you will easily 
conceive, not seldom made my correspondence with you a 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 199 

burden. Still, indeed, it wants, and is likely to want, that 
best ingredient, which alone can make it truly pleasant, 
either to myself or you — that spirituality which once en- 
livened all our intercourse. You will tell me, no doubt, 
that the knowledge I have gained is an earnest of more, 
and more valuable information too ; and that the dispersion 
of the clouds in part, promises, in due time, their complete 
dispersion. I should be happy to believe it ; but the 
power to do so is at present far from me. Never was the 
mind of man benighted to a degree that mine has been. 
The storms that have assailed me would have overset the 
faith of every man that ever had any ; and the very re- 
membrance of them, even after they have been long passed 
by, makes hope impossible. Mrs. Unwin, whose poor 
bark is still held together, though much shattered by being 
tossed and agitated so long at the side of mine, does not 
forget yours and Mrs. Newton's kindness on this last oc- 
casion. Mrs. Newton's offer to come to her assistance, and 
your readiness to have rendered us the same service, could 
you have hoped for any salutary effect of your presence 
neither Mrs. Unwin nor myself undervalue, nor shall pre- 
sently forget. But you j udged right when you supposed that 
even your company would have been no relief to me ; the 
company of my father or my brother, could they have been 
returned from the dead to visit me, would have been none. 
We are now busied in preparing for the reception of Lady 
Hesketh, whom we expect here shortly. Mrs. Unwin's 
time has, of course, been lately occupied to a degree that 
made writing to her impracticable; and she excused her- 
self the rather, knowing my intentions to take her office. 
It does not, however, suit me to write much at a time. 
This last tempest has left my nerves in a worse condition 
than it found them; my head especially, though better 
informed, is more infirm than ever; I will therefore only 



200 TH E LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEH. 

add, that I rejoice to hear Mrs. Cowper has been so com- 
fortably supported under her heavy trial. She must have 
severely felt the loss of her son. She has an affectionate 
heart towards her children, and could not but be sensible 
of the bitterness of such a cup. But God's presence 
sweetens every bitter. Desertion is the only evil that a 
christian cannot bear." 

Cowper's friends were all delighted to see him again in 
full possession of his mental powers; and, as many of them 
attributed his last attack to the irritation and fatigue occa- 
sioned by his translation of Homer, they endeavoured to 
dissuade him from pursuing it, and recommended him to 
confine his attention to original poetry. Cowper was not, 
however, to be diverted from his purpose without an irre- 
fragable proof of its injurious tendency, and he had formed 
a very different opinion on the subject to that of his friends. 
In a letter to Mr. Newton, he particularly adverts to it. — 
" I have many kind friends, who, like yourself, wish that, 
instead of turning my endeavours to a translation of Homer, 
I had proceeded in the way of original poetry. But I can 
truly say, that it was ordered otherwise, not by me, but by 
that God who governs all my thoughts, and directs all my 
intentions as he pleases. It may seem strange, but it is 
true, that after having written a volume, in general, with 
great ease to myself, I found it impossible to write another 
page. The mind of man is not a fountain, but a cistern ; 
and mine, God knows, a broken one. It is my creed, that 
the intellect depends as much, both for the energy and the 
multitude of its exertions, upon the operations of God's 
agency upon it, as the heart, for the exercise of its graces, 
upon the influence of the Holy Spirit. According to this 
persuasion, I may very reasonably affirm, that it was not 
God's good pleasure that I should proceed in the same 
track, because he did not enable me to do it. A whole 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 201 

year I waited, and waited in circumstances of mind that 
made a state of mere employment peculiarly irksome to me. 
I longed for the pen as the only remedy, but I could find 
no subject : extreme distress at last, drove me, as, if I mis- 
take not, I told you some time since, to lay Homer before 
me, and translate for amusement. Why it pleased God 
that I should be hunted into such a business, of such 
enormous length and labour, by miseries for which he did 
not see good to afford me any other remedy, I know not. 
But so it was; and jejune as the consolation may be, and 
unsuited to the exigencies of a mind that once was spi- 
ritual, yet a thousand times have I been glad of it, for a 
thousand times it has served, at least, to divert my atten- 
tion in some degree, from such terrible tempests as I be- 
lieve have seldom been permitted to beat upon a human 
mind. Let my friends, therefore, who wish me some little 
measure of tranquillity in the performance of the most tur- 
bulent voyage that ever Christian mariner made, be con- 
tented, that having Homer's mountains and forests to wind- 
ward, I escape, under their shelter, from many a gust of 
melancholy depression that would almost overset me, espe- 
cially when they consider that, not by choice, but by 
necessity, I make them my refuge. As to the fame, and 
honour, and glory, that may be acquired by poetical feats 
of any sort, God knows, that if I could lay me down in my 
grave with hope at my side, or sit with this companion in 
a dungeon all the residue of my days, I would cheerfully 
wave them all. For, the little fame that I have already 
earned, has never saved me from one distressing night, or 
from one despairing day, since I first acquired it. For 
what I am reserved, or to what, is a mystery ; I would fain 
hope, not merely that I may amuse others, or only to be a 
translator of Homer." 

Ten months had now elapsed since Cowper had laid 



202 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

aside his translation, and as Johnston, the publisher, had 
been informed of his recovery, he wrote to require him to 
persevere in the work with as little delay as possible. — 
Cowper immediately recommenced the undertaking, and 
again entered upon it with all his former spirit and activity. 
The following extracts will shew that his affliction had not 
deprived him of the vigour of his mind, or produced in him 
the slightest disinclination to engage in this laborious work. 
" I am as heretofore occupied with Homer ; my present 
occupation is the revisal of all I have done, which is the 
first fifteen books. I stand amazed at my own increasing 
dexterity in the business, being verily persuaded that as 
far as I have gone, I have improved the work to double its 
value. I will assure you, that it engages, unavoidably, my 
whole attention. The length of it, the spirit of it, and the 
exactness requisite to its due performance, are so many 
most interesting subjects of consideration to me, who find 
that my best attempts are only introductory to others, and, 
that what to-day I supposed finished, to-morrow I must 
begin again. Thus it fares with a translator of Homer. — 
To exhibit the majesty of such a poet in a modern language, 
is a task that no man can estimate the difficulty of till he 
attempts it. To paraphrase him loosely, to hang him with 
trappings that do not belong to him, all this is compara- 
tively easy. But to represent him with only his own or- 
naments, and still to preserve his dignity, is a labour, that 
if I hope in any measure to achieve it, I am sensible can 
only be achieved by the most assiduous and most unremit- 
ting attention; a perseverance that nothing can discourage, 
a minuteness of observation that suffers nothing to escape, 
and a determination not to be seduced from the straight 
line that lies before us, by any images which fancy may 
present. There are perhaps, few arduous undertakings that 
are not, in fact, more arduous than we at first supposed 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 9Q3 

them. As we proceed, difficulties increase upon us, but 
our hopes gather strength also, and we conquer difficulties, 
which, could we have foreseen them, we should never have 
had the boldness to encounter. You possess by nature all 
that is necessary to success in the profession you have 
chosen. What remains is in your own power. They say 
of poets, that they must be born such ; so must mathema- 
ticians, so must great generals, so must lawyers, and so 
indeed must men of all denominations, or it is not possible 
that they should excel. But with whatever faculties we 
are born, and to whatever studies our genius may direct us, 
studies they must still be. I am persuaded that Milton did 
not write his Paradise Lost, nor Homer his Uliad, nor 
Newton his Principia, without immense labour. Nature 
gave them a bent to their respective pursuits, and that 
strong propensity, I suppose, is what we mean by genius. 
The rest they gave themselves." 

" My first thirteen books of Homer have been criticised 
in London ; have been by ine accommodated to these criti- 
cisms; returned to London in their improved state, and 
sent back to Weston with an imprimantur. This would 
satisfy some poets less anxious than myself about what they 
expose in public, but it has not satisfied me. I am now 
revising them again, by the light of my own critical taper, 
and make more alterations than at the first. But are they 
improvements ? you will ask. Is not the spirit of the work 
endangered by all this correctness? I think and hope that 
it is not. Being well aware of the possibility of such a cata- 
strophe, I guard particularly against it. W~here I find a 
servile adherence to the original would render the passage 
less animated than it would be, I still, as at the first, allow 
myself a liberty. On all other occasions, I prune with an 
unsparing hand, determined that there shall not be found 
in the whole translation an idea that is not Homer's. My 



204 T HE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

ambition is, to produce the closest copy possible, and at 
the same time, as harmonious as I can possibly make it. — 
This being my object, you will no longer think, if indeed 
you have thought it at all, that I am unnecessarily, and 
overmuch industrious. The original surpasses every thing ; 
it is of an immense length, is composed in the best language 
ever used upon earth, and deserves, indeed demands, all 
the labour that any translator, be he who he may, can pos- 
sibly bestow upon it. At present, mere English readers 
know no more of Homer in reality, than if he had never been 
translated. That consideration indeed it was, which mainly 
induced me to the undertaking; and if after all, either 
through idleness or dotage, upon what I have already done, 
I leave it chargeable with the same incorrectness as my 
predecessors, or, indeed, with any other that I may be able 
to amend, I had much better have amused myself other- 
wise. I am now in the nineteenth book of the Illiad, and 
on the point of displaying such feats of heroism, performed 
by Achilles, as make all other achievements trivial. I may 
well exclaim, Oh, for a muse of fire ! especially, having not 
only a great host to cope with, but a great river also; much, 
however, may be done when Homer leads the way. What 
would I give if he were now living, and within my reach ' 
I, of all men living, have the best excuse for indulging such 
a wish, unreasonable as it may seem, for I have no doubt 
that the fire of his eyes, and the smile of his lips, would 
put me, now and then, in possession of his full meaning 
more effectually than any commentator ! " 

This close application of Cowper's to the translation of 
Homer, was not allowed to suspend, though it in some 
measure interrupted, his correspondence with Mr. Newton. 
To him he still opened the state of his mind without the 
least reserve, and it will appear, from the following extracts, 
that he had lost, in no degree, his relish for the enjoyments 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 205 

of religion, though his mind still continued under the in- 
fluence of his depressive malady. " Your last letter in- 
formed us, that you were likely to be much occupied for 
some time in writing on a subject that must be interesting 
to a person of your feelings — the Slave Trade. I was un- 
willing to interrupt your progress in so good a work, and 
have, therefore, enjoined myself a longer silence than I 
should otherwise have thought excusable, though, to say 
the truth, did not our once intimate fellowship in the things 
of God recur to my remembrance, and present me with 
something like a warrant for doing it, I should hardly have 
prevailed upon myself to write at all. Letters such as mine, 
to a person of a character such as yours, are like snow in 
harvest; and you will say, that if I will send you a letter 
that you can answer, I shall make your part of the busi- 
ness easier than it is. This I would gladly do; but though 
Labhor a vacuum, as much as nature herself is said to do, 
yet a vacuum I am bound to feel, of all such matter as may 
merit your perusal. I have lately been engaged in corres- 
pondence with a lady whom I never saw. She lives at 
Perton Hall, near Kimbolton, and is the wife of Dr. King, 
who has the living. She is evidently a Christian, and a 
very gracious one. I would that she had you for a corres- 
pondent, rather than me. One letter from you would do 
her more good than a ream of mine. But so it is; and 
though I despair of communicating to her any thing that 
will be of much advantage, I must write to her this even- 
ing. Undeserving as I feel myself to be of divine protec- 
tion, I am nevertheless receiving almost daily, I might in- 
deed say hourly, proofs of it. A few days ago, Providence 
interfered to preserve me from the heaviest affliction that I 
could now suffer — the loss of Mrs. Unwin, and in a way 
too, the most shocking imaginable. Having kindled her 
fire in the room where she dresses, (an office that she al- 



206 THE L1FE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

ways performs for herself,) she placed the candle on the 
hearth, and kneeling, addressed herself to her devotions ; a 
thought struck her while thus occupied, that the candle, 
being short, might possibly catch her clothes, she pinched 
it out with the tongs, and set it on the table. In a few 
moments the chamber was so filled with smoke, that her 
eyes watered, and it was hardly possible to see across it. — 
Supposing that it proceeded from the chimney, she pushed 
the billets backward, and while she did so, casting her eye 
downward, perceived that her dress was on fire. In fact, 
before she extinguished the candle, the mischief that she 
apprehended had begun ; and when she related the matter 
to me, she shewed me her clothes, with a hole burnt in 
them as large as this sheet of paper. It is not possible? 
perhaps, that so tragical a death could occur to a person 
actually engaged in prayer, for her escape seems almost a 
miracle. Her presence of mind, by which she was enabled, 
without calling for help, or waiting for it, to gather up her 
clothes, and plunge them, burning as they were, in water, 
seems as wonderful a part of the occurrence as any. The 
very report of fire, though distant, has rendered hundreds 
torpid and incapable of self-succour; how much more was 
such a disability to be expected, when the fire had not 
seized a neighbour's house, or begun its devastations on our 
own, but was actually consuming the apparel that she wore, 
and seemed in possession of her person." 

The continued gloomy state of Cowper's mind will be 
seen by the following extract from a letter to his cousin, 
Lady Hesketh, with whom he corresponded, as nearly as 
possible, at stated and regular intervals, — January 30, 1788, 
he thus writes. " It is a fortnight since I heard from you, 
that is to say, a week longer than you have been accus- 
tomed to make me wait for a letter. I do not forget that 
you have recommended it to me, on occasions somewhat si- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER; 207 

milar, to banish all anxiety, and to ascribe your silence only 
to the interruptions of company. Good advice, my dear, 
but not easily taken by a man circumstanced as I am. I 
have learned in the school of adversity, a school from which 
I have no expectations that I shall ever be dismissed, to 
apprehend the worst, and have ever found it the only 
course in which I can indulge myself, without the least 
danger of incurring a disappointment. This kind of expe- 
rience, continued through many years, has given me such 
an habitual bias to the gloomy side of every thing, that I 
never have a moment's ease on any subject to which I am 
not indifferent. How then can I be easy, when I am left 
afloat upon a sea of endless conjectures, of which you fur- 
nish the occasion. Write, I beseech you, and do not for- 
get that I am now a battered actor upon this turbulent 
stage, that what little vigour of mind I ever had, of the 
self-supporting kind I mean, has long since been broken, 
and, that though I can bear nothing well, yet any thing- 
better than a state of ignorance concerning your welfare. 
I have spent hours in the night, leaning upon my elbow, 
and wondering what your silence can mean. I entreat you, 
once more, to put an end to these speculations, which cost 
me more animal spirits thun I can spare. I love you, my 
cousin, and cannot suspect either with or without cause, 
the least evil, in which you may be concerned, without 
being quietly troubled ! O, trouble ! the portion of mortals 
— but mine in particular. Would I had never known thee, 
or could bid thee farewell for ever ! for, I meet thee at every 
turn, my pillows are stuffed with thee, my very roses smell 
of thee, and even my cousin, who would, I am sure, cure me 
of all trouble if she could, is sometimes innocently the 
cause of trouble to me !" 



208 T HE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Pressing invitations of his friends to write a poem on the Slave Trade — 
Reasons for declining it — Correspondence with Mrs. King — Par- 
ticular description of his feelings — Death of Sir Ashley Cowper — 
Description of his character — Great severity of Cowper's depres- 
sion — Is again urged to write on the Slave Trade — Again declines 
it — Assigns particular reasons for it — His indefatigable application 
to Homer — Notice he took of passing events — Mr. and Mrs. New- 
ton's visit to Weston — The pleasure it afforded Cowper — Lady 
Hesketh's visit — Completion of the Iliad, and commencement of 
the Odyssey — His unwearied application to Homer not allowed 
to divert his attention from religion — Occasional composition of 
original poetry — Readiness to listen to any alteration that might 
be suggested in his productions. 

Many of Cowper's friends were anxious to have him em- 
ploy his admirable powers in a poem on the abolition of 
slavery, and Lady Hesketh wrote him several pressing invi- 
tations on the subject; to which he gave the following re- 
ply. " I have now three letters of yours, my dearest cousin, 
before me, all written in the space of a week, and must be, 
indeed, insensible of kindness, did I not feel yours on this 
occasion. I cannot describe to you, neither could you 
comprehend it if I could, the manner in which my mind is 
sometimes impressed with melancholy on particular sub- 
jects. Your late silence was such a subject. I heard, 
saw, and felt, a thousand terrible things, which had no 
real existence, and was haunted by them night and day, 
till they at last extorted from me that doleful epistle, which 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 209 

I have since wished had been burnt before I sent it. But 
the cloud has passed, and 9 as far as you are concerned, my 
heart is once more at rest. Before you gave me the hint 
contained in your last letters, I had once or twice, as I lay 
on my bed, watching the break of day, ruminated on the 
subject which you kindly recommended to me. Slavery, 
or a release from slavery, such as the poor negroes have 
endured, or perhaps both these topics together, appeared 
to me a theme so important at the present juncture, and at 
the same time so susceptible of practical management, that 
I more than once perceived myself ready to start in that 
cause, could I have allowed myself to desert Homer for so 
long a time as it would have cost me to do them justice. 
While I was pondering these things, the public prints in- 
formed me that Miss More was on the point of publication, 
having actually finished what I had not began. The sight 
of her advertisement convinced me that my best course 
would be that to which I felt myself most inclined ; to 
persevere without turning aside to attend to any other call, 
however alluring, in the business I have in hand. It oc- 
curred to me likewise, that I have lately borne my testi- 
mony in favour of my black brethren, and that I was one 
of the earliest, if not the first, of those who have, in the 
present day, expressed their detestation of the diabolical 
trade in question. On all these accounts I judged it best 
to be silent. I shall be glad to see Hannah More's poem ; 
she is a favourite writer with me, and has more nerve and 
energy, both in her thoughts and language, than half the 
rhymers in the kingdom." 

It will be seen by the last extract made from Cowper's 
letters to Mr. Newton, that he had now commenced a cor- 
respondence with Mrs. King, and as his letters to that 
lady are highly interesting, we shall make such use of 
them as will be descriptive of the state of his mind at that 



210 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

period. " A letter from a lady who was once intimate 
with my brother, could not fail of being most acceptable 
to me. I lost him just at a moment when those truths 
which have recommended my volumes to your approbation, 
were become his daily sustenance, as they had long been 
mine. But the will of God was done. I have sometimes 
thought that had his life been spared, being made brothers 
by a stricter tie than ever, in the bonds of the same faith, 
hope, and love, we should have been happier in each other 
than it was in the power of mere natural affection to make 
us. But it was his blessing to be taken from a world in 
which he had no longer any wish to continue ; and it will 
be mine, if, while I live in it, my time may not be altoge- 
ther wasted : in order to effect that good end, I wrote what 
I am happy to find has given you pleasure to read. But for 
that pleasure, Madam, you are indebted neither to me nor 
to my muse ; but (as you are well aware) to Him who alone 
can make divine truths palatable, in whatever vehicle con- 
veyed. It is an established philosophical axiom, that no- 
thing can communicate what it has not in itself; but in 
the effects of christian communion, a very strong exception 
is found to this general rule, however self-evident it may 
seem. A man, himself destitute of all spiritual consolation, 
may by occasion, impart it to others. Thus I, it seems, 
who wrote those very poems, to amuse a mind oppressed 
with melancholy, and who have myself derived from them 
no other benefit, (for mere success in authorship will do me 
no good,) have nevertheless, by so doing, comforted others, 
at the same time that they administer to me no consola- 
tion. But I will proceed no further in this strain, lest my 
prose should damp a pleasure that my verse has happily 
excited. On the contrary, I will endeavour to rejoice in 
your joy, and especially, because I have myself been the 
instrument of conveying it." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 211 

" I owe you many acknowledgments, dear Madam, for 
that unreserved communication both of your history and 
of your sentiments, with which you honoured me in your 
last, it gives me great pleasure to learn that you are so 
happily circumstanced, both in respect of situation and 
frame of mind. With your view of religious subjects, you 
could not indeed, speaking properly, be pronounced un- 
happy in any circumstances ; but to have received from 
above, not only that faith which reconciles the heart to 
affliction, but many outward comforts also, and especially 
that greatest of all earthly comforts, a comfortable home, 
is happiness indeed. May you long enjoy it ! As to health 
or sickness, you have learned already their true value, and 
know well that the former is no blessing, unless it be sanc- 
tified, and that the latter is one of the greatest we can re- 
ceive, when we are enabled to make a proper use of it." 

" The melancholy that I have mentioned to you, and 
concerning which you are so kind as to inquire, is of a 
kind, so far as I know, peculiar to myself. It does not at 
all affect the operations of my mind, on any subject to 
which I can attach it, whether serious or ludicrous, or 
whatever it may be, for which reason I am almost always 
employed either in reading or writing, when I am not 
engaged in conversation. A vacant hour is my abhorrence ; 
because, when I am not occupied, I suffer under the whole 
influence of my unhappy temperament. I thank you for 
your recommendation of a medicine from which you have 
derived benefit yourself; but there is hardly anything that 
I have not proved, however beneficial it may have been 
found to others, in my own case, utterly useless. I have, 
therefore, long since bid adieu to all hope from human 
means — the means excepted of perpetual employment. I 
will not say that we shall never meet, because it is not for 
a creature, who knows not what will be to-morrow, to assert 

p2 



212 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

anything positively concerning the future. Things more 
unlikely I have seen come to pass ; and things which, if I 
had expressed myself on them at all, I should have said 
were impossible. But, being respectively circumstanced 
as we are, there seems no present probability of it. You 
speak of insuperable hindrances, and 1 also have hin- 
drances that would be equally difficult to surmount. One 
is, that I never ride ; that I am not able to perform so long 
a journey on foot ; and that chaises do not roll within the 
sphere of that economy which my circumstances oblige me 
to observe. If this were not of itself a sufficient excuse, 
when I decline so obliging an invitation as yours, I could 
mention yet other obstacles. But to what end ? One 
impracticability makes as effectual a barrier as a thousand : 
it will be otherwise in other worlds : either we shall not 
bear about us a body, or it will be more easily transportable 
than this. The world in which we live is indeed, as you 
say, a foolish world, and is likely to continue such, till the 
Great Teacher himself shall vouchsafe to make it wiser. I 
am persuaded that time alone will never mend it. But 
there is doubtless a day appointed when" there will be a 
more general manifestation of the beauty of holiness, than 
mankind have ever yet beheld. When that period shall 
arrive, there will be an end of profane representations, 
whether of heaven or hell, on the stage, of which you 
complain — the great realities of religion will supersede 
them." 

" You must think me a tardy correspondent, unless you 
have charity enough to suppose that I have met with 
other hindrances than those of indolence and inattention. 
With these I cannot charge myself, for t am never idle by 
choice ; and inattentive to you I certainly have not been. 
My silence has been occasioned by a malady to which I 
have all my life been subject — an inflammation of the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 213 

eyes. The last sudden change of weather, from excessive 
heat to a wintry degree of cold, occasioned it, and at the 
same time gave me a pinch of the rheumatic kind, from 
both which disorders I have but just recovered. I do not 
suppose that our climate has been much altered since the 
days of our forefathers, the Picts ; but certainly the human 
constitution, in this country, has altered very much. In- 
ured as we are from our cradles to every vicissitude, in a 
climate more various than any other, and in possession of 
all that modern refinement has been able to contrive for our 
security, we are yet as subject to blights as the tenderest 
blossoms of spring ; and we are so well admonished of 
every change in the atmosphere by our bodily feelings, as 
hardly to have any need of a weather-glass to mark them. 
For this we are, no doubt, indebted to the multitude of 
our accommodations ; for it was not possible to retain the 
hardiness that originally belonged to our race, under the 
delicate management to which, for many ages, we have 
been accustomed. It is observable, however, that though 
we have by these means lost much of our pristine vigour, 
our days are not the fewer. We live as long as those 
whom, on account of the sturdiness of their frame, the 
poets supposed to have been r the progeny of oaks. 
Perhaps, too, they had but little feeling, and for that 
reason might be imagined to be so descended ; for a very 
robust, athletic habit, seems inconsistent with much sen- 
sibility. But sensibility is the sine qua non of real hap- 
piness. If, therefore, our lives have not been shortened, 
and if our feelings have been rendered more exquisite, 
as our habit of body has become more delicate, on the 
whole we have no cause to complain, but are rather gainers 
by our degeneracy." 

In the beginning of June, 1788, an event occurred,, 
which, though it had been long expected by Cowper and 



214 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

by all his friends, could not fail to make a deep impression 
upon his peculiarly sensitive mind. This was the death of 
his esteemed and venerable relation Ashly Cowper, Esq., 
Clerk of the Parliaments, and brother to Cowper's father, 
the last moments of whose life his daughter, Lady Hesketh, 
had watched over with the tenderest solicitude. In reply to 
an affectionate letter from his friend Mr. Hill, apprizing him 
of the event, he thus writes : — " Your letter brought me the 
first intelligence of the event it mentions. My last from 
Lady Hesketh gave me reason enough to expect it ; but 
the certainty of it was unknown to me till I learned it by 
your information. If gradual decline, the consequence of 
great age, be a sufficient preparation of the mind to en- 
counter such a loss, our minds were certainly prepared to 
meet it : yet to you I need not say that no preparation 
can supersede the feelings of the heart on such occasions. 
While our friends yet live, inhabitants of the same world 
with ourselves, they seem still to live to us — we are sure 
that they often think of us ; and, however improbable it 
may seem, it is never impossible that we may see each 
other once again. But the grave, like a great gulph, 
swallows all such expectations, and in the moment when a 
beloved friend sinks into it, a thousand tender recollections 
awaken a regret that will be felt in spite of all reasonings, 
and let our warnings have been what they may. My dear 
uncle's death awakened in me many reflections, which, for 
a time, sunk my spirits. A man like him would have been 
mourned had he doubled the age he reached. At any age 
his death would have been felt as a loss that no survivor 
could repair. And though it was not probable that, for my 
own part, I should ever see him more, yet the conscious- 
ness that he still lived, was a comfort to me. Let it com- 
fort us now, that we have lost him only at a time when 
nature could afford him to us no longer ; that as his life 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 215 

was blameless, so was his death without anguish, and that 
he is gone to heaven. I know not that human life, in its 
most prosperous state, can present anything to our wishes 
half so desirable as such a close of it." 

In another letter, he again writes : — u We have indeed 
lost one who has not left his like in the present genera- 
tion of our family ; and whose equal, in all respects, no 
.future generation of it will probably produce. I often 
think what a joyful interview there has been between him 
and some of his friends who went before him. The truth 
of the matter is, my dear, they are happy ones, and we 
shall never be entirely so ourselves till we have joined the 
party. Can there be anything so worthy of our warmest 
wishes as to enter on an eternal, unchangeable state, in 
blessed fellowship and communion with those whose society 
we valued most, and for the best reasons, while they con- 
tinued with us ? A few steps more through a vain, foolish 
world, and this happiness will be yours. But I earnestly 
hope the end of thy journey is not near. For of all that 
live, thou art one whom I can least spare ; for thou also art 
one who shall not leave thy equal behind thee." 

The state of Cowper's mind at this period will be dis- 
covered by the following extract from a letter to his friend 
Mr. Bull, who appears to have solicited him for some 
original hymns, to be used by him probably on some 
public occasion. " Ask possibilities, and they shall be 
performed ; but ask not hymns from a man suffering with 
despair as I do. I would not sing the Lord's song were it 
to save my life, banished as I am, not to a strange land, 
but to a remoteness from his presence, in comparison with 
which the distance from east to west is no distance — is 
vicinity and cohesion. I dare not, either in prose or verse, 
allow myself to express a frame of mind which I am con- 
scious does not belong to me ; least of all can I venture to 



216 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COVVPER. 

use the language of absolute resignation, lest, only coun- 
terfeiting, I should, for that very reason, be taken strictly 
at my word, and lose all my remaining comfort. Can there 
not be found, among the translations of Madame Guion, 
somewhat that might serve the purpose ? I should think 
there might. Submission to the will of Christ, my memory 
tells me, is a theme that pervades them all. If so, your 
request is performed already ; and if any alteration in them 
should be necessary, I will, with all my heart, make it. I 
have no objection to giving the graces of a foreigner an 
English dress, but insuperable ones to all false pretences 
and affected exhibitions of what I do not feel." 

Several of Cowper's correspondents, at this time, again 
strongly urged him to write a poem on the Slave Trade. 
The following extracts will shew that he was unwilling to 
give a refusal, though he could by no means prevail upon 
himself to accede to their wishes. '.'. Twice or thrice, before 
your request came, have I been solicited to write a poem 
on the cruel, odious, and disgusting subject of Negro 
Slavery. But besides that it would be in some sort treason 
against Homer to abandon him for any other matter, I felt 
myself so much hurt in my spirits the moment I entered 
on the contemplation of it, that I have at last determined, 
absolutely, to have nothing more to do with it. There are 
some scenes of horror on which my imagination has dwelt 
not without some complacency ; but then they are such 
scenes as God, not man, produces. In earthquakes, high 
winds, tempestuous seas, there is a grand as well as a 
terrible. But when man is tempted to disturb, there is 
such meanness in the design, and such cruelty in the exe- 
cution, that I both hate and despise the whole operation, 
and feel it a degradation of poetry to employ her in the 
description of it. I hope, also, that the generality of my 
countrymen have more generosity in their nature than to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 217 

want the fiddle of verse to go before them in the per- 
formance of an act to which they are invited by the loudest 
calls of humanity. I shall rejoice if your friend, influenced 
by what you told him of my present engagements, shall 
waive his aplication to me for a poem on this revolting 
subject. I account myself honoured by his intention to 
solicit one, and it would give me pain to refuse him, which 
inevitably I shall be constrained to do. The more I have 
considered it, the more I have convinced myself that it is 
not a promising theme for verse, at least to me. General 
censure on the iniquity of the practice will avail nothing. 
The world has been overwhelmed with such remarks al- 
ready, and to particularize all the horrors of it, were an 
employment for the mind, both of the poet and of his 
readers, of which they would necessarily soon grow weary. 
For my own part, I cannot contemplate the subject very 
nearly, without a degree of abhorrence that affects my 
spirits, and sinks them below the pitch requisite for suc- 
cess in verse. Lady Hesketh recommended it to me some 
months since, and then I declined it for those reasons, and 
for others which I need not now mention." 

The close attention that Cowper found it necessary to 
pay to his Homer, left him, at this period, but little time 
for any other engagement. Adverting to this, he thus 
writes to Mr. Newton : — " It is a comfort to me that you 
are so kind as to make allowance for me, in consequence of 
my being so busy a man. The truth is, that could I write 
with both hands, and with both at the same time, — verse 
with one, and prose with the other, — I should not, even so, 
be able to despatch both my poetry and my arrears of cor- 
respondence faster than T have need. The only opportuni- 
ties that T can find for conversing with distant friends are 
in the early hour, (and that sometimes reduced to half a 
one,) before breakfast. Neither am I exempt from hind- 



218 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

ranees, which, while they last, are insurmountable, especi- 
ally one, by which I have been occasionally a sufferer all 
my life — an inflammation of the eyes ; which has often dis- 
abled me from all sorts of scribbling. When I tell you that 
an unanswered letter troubles my conscience, in some de- 
gree, like a crime, you will think me endued with a most 
heroic patience, who have so long submitted to that trouble 
on account of yours, not answered yet. But the truth is, 
that I have been much engaged. Homer, you know, affords 
me constant employment, besides which I have rather, 
what may be called, — considering the privacy in which I 
have long lived, — a numerous correspondence: to one of 
my friends in particular, a near and much loved relation, I 
write weekly, and sometimes twice in the week ; nor are 
these my only excuses; the sudden changes of the weather 
have much affected me, and have often made me wholly 
incapable of writing." 

The summer of 1788 was remarkably hot and dry, and 
to show the manner in which it affected Cowper's mind we 
give the following extract from a letter to one of his corres- 
pondents : — " It has pleased God to give us rain, without 
which, this part of the country at least, must soon have 
become a desert. The goodness and power of God are 
never, (I believe,) so universally acknowledged as at the 
end of a long drought. Man is naturally a self-sufficient 
animal, and in all concerns that seem to be within the 
sphere of his own ability, thinks little, or not at all, of the 
need he always has of protection and furtherance from 
above. But he is sensible that the clouds will not assem- 
ble at his bidding, and that though they do assemble, they 
will not fall in showers, because he commands them. — 
When, therefore, at, last the blessing descends, you shall 
hear, even in the streets, the most irreligious and thought- 
less with one voice exclaim, — Thank God! Confessing 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 219 

themselves indebted to his power, and willing, at least as 
far as words go, to give Him the glory. I can hardly doubt, 
therefore, that the earth is sometimes parched, and the 
crops endangered, in order that the multitude may not 
want a memento to whom they owe them ; nor absolutely 
forget the power on which we all depend for all things. 
The summer is leaving us at a rapid rate, as indeed do all 
the seasons, and though I have marked their flight often, 
I know not which is the swiftest. Man is never so deluded 
as when he dreams of his own duration. The answer of 
the old patriarch to Pharaoh may be adopted by every 
man at the close of the longest life. — ' Few and evil have 
been the days of the years of my pilgrimage.' Whether 
we look back from fifty, or from twice fifty, the past ap- 
pears equally a dream ; and we can only be said truly to 
have lived, while we have been profitably employed. Alas, 
then ! making the necessary deductions, how short is life ! 
Were men in general to save themselves all the steps they 
take to no purpose, or to a bad one, what numbers, who are 
now active and thoughtless, would become sedentary and 
serious." 

In the latter part of July, 1788, Mr. and Mrs. Newton 
paid Cowper a visit at Weston ; and the pleasure it afforded 
him, will, with the state of his mind on the occasion, be 
seen by the following extract from a letter addressed to 
Mr. Newton, after his return. — u I rejoice that you and 
yours reached London safe, especially when I reflect that 
you performed your journey on a day so fatal, as I under- 
stand, to others travelling the same road. I found those 
comforts in your visit which have formerly sweetened all 
our interviews, in part restored. I knew you, knew you 
for the same shepherd who was sent to lead me out of the 
wilderness into the pasture, where the Chief Shepherd 
feeds his flock, and felt my sentiments of affectionate 



220 TH E LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

friendship for you the same as ever. But one thing was 
still wanting, and that thing the crown of all. I shall find 
it in God's time if it be not lost for ever. When I say this, 
I say it trembling : for at what time soever comfort may 
come, it will not come without its attendant evil ; and 
whatever good things may occur in the interval, I have sad 
forebodings of the event, having learned by experience that 
I was born to be persecuted with peculiar fury, and as- 
sured by believing, that such as my lot has been, it will be 
to the end. This belief is connected in my mind with an 
observation I have often made, and is, perhaps, founded in 
great part upon it, — -that there is a certain style of dispen- 
sations maintained by Providence, in the dealings of God 
with every man, which, however the incidents of his life 
may vary, and though he may be thrown into different situ- 
ations, is never exchanged for another. The style of dis- 
pensation peculiar to myself has hitherto been that of 
sudden, violent, unlooked-for change. When I have 
thought myself falling into the abyss, I have been caught 
up again ; when I have thought myself on the threshold of 
a happy eternity, I have been thrust down to hell. The 
rough and the smooth of such a lot, taken together, should 
perhaps, have taught me never to despair; but through an 
unhappy propensity in my nature to forebode the worst, 
they have, on the contrary, operated as an admonition to 
me, never to hope. A firm persuasion that I can never 
durably enjoy a comfortable state of mind, but must be 
depressed in proportion as I have been elevated, withers 
my joys in the bud, and, in a manner, entombs them be- 
fore they are born : for I have no expectation but of sad 
vicissitude, and ever believe that the last shock of all will 
be fatal." 

It might be supposed, from the gloomy state of Cowper's 
mind, as described by his letters, that no person could feel 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 221 

any real enjoyment in his society, and that his friends who 
visited him, did so, not so much for their own sake as for 
his. The fact, however, was, that all who had once been 
favoured with his company, were particularly anxious 
to enjoy it again ; for though he was never what might be 
termed brilliant in conversation, yet he was always interest- 
ing; and his amiable, polite, and unaffected manners, asso- 
ciated with his rich intellectual acquirements, which he 
had the happy talent of displaying, in a manner perfectly 
unobtrusive, made him the charm of the social circle. His 
anxiety to promote the happiness of those with whom he 
might happen to be associated, gave to his conversation an 
air of cheerfulness, and sometimes even of sprightliness and 
vivacity, altogether different to that which generally per- 
vaded his correspondence : and the same amiable solicitude 
for the welfare of others, caused him sometimes to write to 
his correspondents, in a style the most playful and agreeable. 
Of this we have an instance, in a letter to Mrs. King, writ- 
ten about this time. — "You express some degree of wonder 
that I found you out to be sedentary, at least, much a 
stayer within doors, without any sufficient data for my 
direction. Now, if I should guess your figure and stature 
with equal success, you will deem me not only a poet, but 
a conjuror. Yet, in fact, I have no pretensions of that sort. 
I have only formed a picture of you in my own imagination, 
as we ever do of a person of whom we think much, but 
whom we have never seen. Your height, I conceive, to be 
about five feet five inches, which, though it would make a 
short man, is yet height enough for a woman. If you in- 
sist on an inch or two more, I have no objection. You are 
not very fat, but somewhat inclined to be so, and unless 
you allow yourself a little more air and exercise, will incur 
some danger of exceeding your present dimensions before 
you die. Let me, therefore, once more recommend to you, 



222 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

to walk a little more, at least in your garden, and to amuse 
yourself with pulling up here and there a weed, for it will 
be an inconvenience to you to be much fatter than you are, 
especially when your strength will be naturally on the de- 
cline. I have given you a fair complexion, a slight tinge 
of the rose on your cheeks, dark brown hair, and, if the 
fashion would give you leave to show it, an open and well- 
formed forehead. To all this I add a pair of eyes not quite 
black, but approaching nearly to that hue, and very ani- 
mated. I have not absolutely determined on the shape of 
your nose, or the form of your mouth, but should you tell 
me that 1 have in other respects drawn a tolerable likeness, 
have no doubt but I can describe them too. I assure you 
that though I have a great desire to read Lavater, I have 
never seen his volumes, nor have I availed myself in the 
least of any of his rules on this occasion. Ah, Madam ! 
if with all this sensibility of yours, which exposes you to so 
much sorrow, and necessarily must expose you to it in a 
world like this, I have had the good fortune to make you 
smile, I have then painted you, whether with a strong re- 
semblance, or with none at all, to very good purpose. " 

During the time that Mr. and Mrs. Newton were on their 
visit at Weston, Cowper's friend, Mr. Samuel Rose, arrived 
there also. Cowper was highly pleased with this circum- 
stance, as it served to enliven his social circle, and afforded 
him an opportunity to introduce his young friend to Mr. 
Newton, whose advice and influence, might probably be of 
considerable advantage to him at a future period. To a per- 
son, easily diverted from his purpose, the company of friends 
whom he so highly esteemed, would have been thought a 
sufficient excuse for the suspension of every literary engage- 
ment. Cowper, however, laboured indefatigably at his 
translation, and instead of laying it aside because of his 
friends' visits, he gladly availed himself of their advice 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 223 

and assistance. We learn from the following remarks, ex- 
tracted from a letter to his cousin, written about this time, 
that Cowper would not allow his friend Rose to pay him 
an idle visit: — " My dear cousin, the Newtons are still 
here, and will continue with us, I believe, till the 15th 
of the month. Here is also my friend, Mr. Rose, a valu- 
able young man, who, attracted by the effluvia of my genius, 
found me out in my retirement last January twelvemonth. 
I have not permitted him to be idle, but have made him 
transcribe for me the twelfth book of the Iliad. He brings 
me the compliments of several of the literati, with whom 
he is acquainted in town; and tells me that from- Dr. 
Maclain, whom he saw lately, he learns that my book is in 
the hands of sixty different persons at the Hague, who are 
all enchanted with it; not forgetting the said Dr. Maclain 
himself, who tells him that he reads it every day, and is 
always the better for it. I desire to be thankful for this 
encouraging information, and am willing to ascribe it to its 
only legitimate cause, the blessing of God upon my feeble 
efforts." 

Shortly after Mr. Rose, and Mr. and Mrs. Newton, left 
Weston, the vacuum which the absence of their agreeable 
company made in Cowper's enjoyments, was supplied by 
the arrival of his cousin, Lady Hesketh, whose cheerful 
conversation contributed greatly to his comfort, and who 
diminished much of the labour of his translation by tran- 
scribing the manuscript, so that a fair copy might be 
forwarded to the printer's. In September, 1788, he finished 
the Iliad, and thus describes his feelings on the occasion, 
in a letter to his friend, Mr. Rose : — " The day on which 
you shall receive this, I beg you will remember to drink one 
glass at least, to the success of the Iliad, which I finished 
the day before yesterday, and yesterday began the Odyssey. 
It will be some time before I shall perceive myself travelling 



224 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

in another road ; the objects around me are at present so 
much the same, Olympus and a council of gods meet me 
at my first entrance. To tell you the truth, I am weary 
of heroes and deities, and with, reverence be it spoken, 
shall be glad for variety's sake to change their company for 
that of a Cyclops." 

Cowper's time was now so much employed, in his trans- 
lation, that he had but little opportunity for keeping up his 
correspondence, and the letters he wrote at this period, 
abound with apologies for his apparent neglect. He still, 
however, found time to advert to passing events, sufficiently 
to prove that the best of his mind remained decidedly 
serious. To Mrs. King he thus writes : — " Mrs. Battison, 
your late relative at Bedford, being dead, I was afraid you 
would have no more calls there ; but the marriage so near 
at hand, of the young lady you mention, with a gentle- 
man of that place, gives me hope again, that you may 
occasionally approach us, as heretofore ; and that on 
some of those occasions you will perhaps find your way 
to Weston. The deaths of some and the marriages of 
others, make a new world of it every thirty years. Within 
that space of time, the majority are displaced and a new 
generation has succeeded. Here and there one is permitted 
to stay a little longer, that there may not be wanting a few 
grave dons like myself, to make the observation. The 
thought struck me very forcibly the other day, on reading 
a paper which came hither in the package of some books 
from London. It contained news from Hertfordshire, and 
informed me, among other things, that at Great Berkham- 
stead, the place of my birth, there is hardly a family left, 
of all those with whom, in my early days, I was so familiar. 
The houses, no doubt remain, but the greater part of their 
former inhabitants are now to be found by their grave- 
stones. And it is certain that I might pass through a town 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 225 

in which I was once a sort of principal figure, unknowing 
and unknown. They are happy who have not taken up 
their rest in a world fluctuating as the sea, and passing 
away with the rapidity of a river. I wish from my heart, 
that you and Mr. King, may long continue, as you have 
already long continued, exceptions from the general truth 
of this remark." 

Lady Hesketh remained at Weston through the greater 
part of the winter of 1788-9, and contributed much to 
revive Cowper's drooping spirits, and to cheer and animate 
him in his important undertaking; which seemed to en- 
gage more of his time the nearer it approached to a finish. 
The close attention which he found it indispensably neces- 
sary to bestow upon it, compelled him almost entirely to 
relinquish his correspondence. And, as a letter from him 
was esteemed a treasure by all his friends, many of whom 
began to make complaints of being neglected ; he was 
often compelled, in those he did write, to advert to these 
complaints. We find him thus excusing himself for his 
apparent neglect : — " The post brings me no letters that 
do not grumble at my silence. Had not you, therefore, 
taken me to task as roundly as others, I should perhaps, 
have concluded that you were more indifferent to my 
epistles than the rest of my correspondents ; of whom one 
says : * I shall be glad when you have finished Homer ; 
then possibly you will find a little leisure for an old friend.' 
Another says, ' I don't choose to be neglected, unless you 
equally neglect every one else.' Thus I hear of it with 
both ears, and shall, till I appear in the shape of two great 
quarto volumes, the composition of which, I confess en- 
grosses me to a degree that gives my friends, to whom I 
feel myself much obliged for their anxiety to hear from 
me, but too much reason to complain. Johnson told Mr. 
Martyn the truth, when he said I had nearly completed 

Q 



226 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Homer, but your inference from that truth is not altogether 
so just as most of your conclusions are. Instead of find- 
ing myself the more at leisure, because my long labour 
draws to a close, I find myself the more occupied. As 
when a horse approaches the goal, he does not, unless he 
be jaded, slacken his pace, but quickens it : even so it 
fares with me. The end is in view ; I seem almost to have 
reached the mark, and the nearness of it inspires me with 
fresh alacrity. But be it known to you that I have still 
two books of the Odyssey before me, and when they are 
finished, shall have almost the whole eight-and-forty to 
revise, Judge then, my dear Madam, if it is yet time for 
me to play or to gratify myself with scribbling to those I 
love. No, it is necessary that waking I should be all ab- 
sorpt in Homer, and that sleeping I should dream of 
nothing else." 

Busily engaged, however, as Cowper was with his trans- 
lation, he found time to compose several short, but beauti- 
ful poems, on various subjects, as they happened to occur 
to his mind. These were eagerly sought after by his cor- 
respondents, and were forwarded to them respectively, as 
opportunities offered, accompanied generally with the 
poet's acknowledgements of their comparative insignifi- 
cance, at least in his own esteem. Several of these pro- 
ductions were written to oblige his friends, for whom Cow- 
per always had the highest regard, and whom he felt pleased 
on all occasions to accommodate ; others were written at the 
request of strangers, whom he was not unwilling, when it 
lay fairly in his way, to oblige. On one occasion, the parish 
clerk of Northampton, applied to him for some verses, to 
be annexed to some bills of mortality, which he was ac- 
customed to publish at Christmas. This singular incident, 
so illustrative of Cowper's real generosity, he relates in the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 227 

following most interesting and sprightly manner: — " On 
Monday morning last, Sam brought me word that there was 
a man in the kitchen, who desired to speak with me. I 
ordered him in. A plain, decent, elderly looking figure, 
made its appearance, and being desired to sit, spoke as 
follows : * Sir I am clerk of the parish of All Saints, in 
Northampton ; brother of Mr. C. the upholsterer. It is 
customary for the person in my office to annex to a bill of 
mortality, which he publishes at Christmas, a copy of 
verses. You would do me a great favour, Sir, if you would 
furnish me with one.' To this I replied : Mr. C. you have 
several men of genius in your town, why have you not 
applied to some of them ? There is a namesake of yours 
in particular, Mr. C. the statuary, who every body knows 
is a first rate maker of verses. He surely is the man, of 
all the world, for your purpose. ' Alas ! Sir,' replied he, 
1 I have heretofore borrowed help from him, but he is a 
gentleman of so much reading, that the people of our town 
cannot understand him.' I confess I felt all the force of 
the compliment implied in this speech, and was almost 
ready to answer, perhaps, my good friend, they may find 
me unintelligible for the same reason. But on asking him 
whether he had walked over to Weston on purpose to im- 
plore the assistance of my muse, and on his replying in the 
affirmative, I felt my mortified vanity a little consoled, and 
pitying the poor man's distress, which appeared to be con- 
siderable, promised to supply him. The waggon has ac- 
cordingly gone this day to Northampton, loaded in part 
with my effusions in the mortuary style. A fig for poets 
who write epitaphs upon individuals, I have written one 
that serves two hundred persons." 

On another occasion, Cowper thus writes to Mr. Hill, 
adverting to the numerous entreaties he sometimes received 

Q2 



228 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

for the assistance of his muse. " My muse were a vixen, 
if she were not always ready to fly in obedience to your 
commands. But what can be done ? I can write nothing 
in the few hours that remain to me of this day, that will be 
fit for your purpose ; and, unless I could dispatch what I 
write by to-morrow's post, it would not reach you in time. 
I must add, too, that my friend the vicar of the next parish, 
engaged me the day before yesterday, to furnish him by 
next Sunday with a hymn to be sung on the occasion of 
his preaching to the children of the Sunday-school ; of 
which hymn I have not yet produced a syllable. I am 
somewhat in the case of Lawyer Dowling, in Tom Jones ; 
and could I split myself into as many poets as there are 
muses, I could find employment for them all." 

These numerous engagements, however, did not prevent 
the poet from recording his sentiments respecting any cir- 
cumstance that occurred which he thought deserving no- 
tice. About this time the following melancholy event 
happened, which drew from him lines expressive of his 
entire abhorrence of cruelty, by whomsoever perpetrated, 
and whether practised upon man or upon the lower order 

of animals. John A , Esq., a young gentleman of large 

fortune, who was passionately fond of cock-fighting, came 
to his death in the following awful manner. He had a 
favourite cock, upon which he had won many large sums. 
The last bet he laid upon it he lost, which so enraged him, 
that he had the bird tied to a spit, and roasted alive, before 
a large fire. The screams of the suffering animal were so 
affecting, that some gentlemen who were present attempted 

to interfere, which so exasperated Mr. A , that he 

seized the poker, and with the most furious vehemence de- 
clared that he would kill the first man who interfered ; but 
in th6 midst of his passionate assertions, awful to relate, he 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 229 

fell down dead upon the spot. Cowper was so deeply af- 
fected by the circumstance, that he composed a poetic 
obituary on the occasion, which was inserted in the Gen- 
tleman's Magazine for May, 1789, from which we extract 
the following lines. 

" This man (for since the howling wild 
Disclaims him, man he must be styled) 

Wanted no good below : 
Gentle he was, if gentle birth 
Could make him such, and he had worth, 

If wealth can worth bestow. 

Can such be cruel? such can be 
Cruel as hell, and so was he ; 

A tyrant entertain'd 
With barb'rous sports, whose fell delight 
Was to encourage mortal fight, 

'Twixt birds to battle trained. 

One feathered champion he possessed, 
His darling far beyond the rest, 

Which never knew disgrace, 
Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow 
The life blood of his fiercest foe — 

The Caesar of his race. 

It chanced, at last, when, on a day, 
He pushed him to the desp'rate fray, 

His courage droop'd, he fled; 
The master stormed, the prize was lost, 
And, instant, frantic at the cost, 

He doom'd his favourite dead. 

He seized him fast, and from the pit 
Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit, 

And, Bring me cord, he cried ; 



230 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

The cord was brought, and at his word. 
To that dire implement, the bird, 

Alive, and struggling, tied. 



The horrid sequel asks a veil, 
And all the terrors of the tale 

That can be, shall be sunk ; 
Led by the sufferer's screams aright, 
His shock'd companions view the sight, 
And him with pity, drunk. 

All, suppliant, beg a milder fate, 
For the old warrior at the grate : 

He, deaf to pity's call, 
Whirl'd round him, rapid as a wheel, 
His culinary club of steel, 

Death menacing on all. 

But vengeance hung not far remote, 

For while he stretched his clamorous throat, 

And heaven and earth defied ; 
Big with a curse too closely pent, 
That struggled vainly for a vent, 

He totter'd, reel'd, and died. 

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise, 
To point the judgment of the skies ; 

But judgments plain as this, 
That, sent for men's instruction, bring 
A written label on their wing, 

'Tis hard to read amiss." 



It was Cowper's intention, after finishing his translation, 
to publish a third volume of original poems, which was to 
contain, in addition to a poem he intended to compose, 
similar to the Task, entitled " The Four Ages," all the mi- 
nor unpublished productions of his pen. And it is deeply 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 231 

to be regretted that he was not permitted to carry this de- 
sign into completion, as the interesting subject of the dif- 
ferent stages of man's existence would have been admira- 
bly adapted for a complete developement of his poetic 
talents. 

The readiness of Cowper to listen to any alterations in 
his productions, suggested by his correspondents, ought 
not to go unrecorded. To the Rev. Walter Bagot he thus 
writes. u My verses on the Queen's visit to London, 
either have been printed, or soon will be in the world. 
The finishing to which you objected I have altered, and 
have substituted two new stanzas in the room of it. Two 
others also I have struck out, another friend having ob- 
jected to them. I think I am a very tractable sort of a 
poet. Most of my fraternity would as soon shorten the 
noses of their children because they were said to be too 
long, as thus dock their compositions, in compliance with 
the opinions of others. I beg that when my life shall be 
written hereafter, my authorship's ductibility of temper 
may not be forgotten." 



232 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Mrs. Unwin much injured by a fall — Cowper's anxiety respecting her 
— Continues incessantly engaged in his Homer — Expresses regret 
that it should, in some measure, have suspended his correspondence 
with his friends — Revises a small volume of poems for children — 
State of his mind — Receives, as a present from Mrs. Rodham, a 
portrait of his mother — Feelings on the occasion — Interesting 
description of her character — His affectionate attachment to her — 
Translates a series of Latin letters from a Dutch minister of the 
gospel — Continuance of his depression — Is attacked with a ner- 
vous fever — Completion of his translation — Death of Mrs. New- 
ton — His reflections on the occasion — Again revises his Homer — 
His unalterable attachment to religion. 

In the commencement of 1789, a circumstance occurred, 
which occasioned Cowper considerable uneasiness. Mrs. 
Unwin, his amiable inmate, and faithful companion, re- 
ceived so severe an injury by a fall, which she got when 
walking on a gravel path, covered with ice, that she was 
confined to her room for several weeks. Though she nei- 
ther dislocated any joint, nor broke any bones, yet such 
was the effect of the fall, that it crippled her completely, 
and rendered her as incapable of assisting herself as a 
child. It happened providentially, that Lady Hesketh was 
at Weston, when this painful event occurred. By her 
kind attention to Mrs. Unwin, and her no less tender care 
over her esteemed relative, lest his mind should be too 
deeply affected by this afflicting occurrence, she contri- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 233 

buted greatly to the recovery of the former, and to the 
support of the latter. It was, however, several weeks be- 
fore Mrs. Unwin recovered her strength sufficiently to 
attend to her domestic concerns. Her progress too, when 
she began to amend, was so slow, as to be almost imper- 
ceptible, and her lengthened affliction, notwithstanding 
the precautionary measures adopted by herself, and by 
Lady Hesketh to prevent it, tended, in a great degree, to 
depress the mind of Cowper. 

Early in the ensuing spring, Lady Hesketh was com- 
pelled to return to town. Mrs. Unwin had not then wholly 
recovered her strength, she was, however, so far conva- 
lescent, as to resume the management of her domestic con- 
cerns, and to pay the same kind attention to the poet's 
comfort as had distinguished all her former conduct to- 
wards him. The greater part of the year 1789, Cowper 
was incessantly engaged, principally in translating Homer • 
but occasionally, and indeed frequently, in composing ori- 
ginal poems for the gratification of his friends, or in the 
more difficult employment of revising the productions of 
less gifted poets. The few letters he wrote at this time 
abound with apologies for his seeming negligence, and 
with descriptions of the manner in which he employed his 
time. To one of his correspondents he thus writes. " I 
know that you are too reasonable a man to expect any 
thing like punctuality of correspondence from a translator 
of Homer, especially from one who is a doer also of many 
other things at the same time ; for I labour hard, not only 
to acquire a little fame for myself, but to win it for others, 
men of whom I know nothing, not even their names, who 
send me their poetry, that by translating it out of prose 
into verse, I may make it more like poetry than it was. I 
begin to perceive that if a man will be an author, he must 
live neither to himself nor to his friends so much as to 



234 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

others whom he never saw nor shall see. I feel myself in 
no small degree unworthy of the kind solicitude which you 
express concerning me and my welfare, after a silence so 
much longer than you had reason to expect. I should in- 
deed account myself inexcusable, had I not to allege in 
my defence, perpetual engagements of such a kind as could 
by no means be dispensed with. Had Homer alone been 
in question, Homer should have made room for you ; but 
I have had other work in hand at the same time, equally 
pressing and more laborious. Let it suffice to say, that I 
have not wilfully neglected you for a moment, and that you 
have never been out of my thoughts a day together. Hav- 
ing heard all this, you will feel yourself disposed not only 
to pardon my long silence, but to pity me for the causes of 
it. You may if you please believe likewise, for it is true, 
that I have a faculty of remembering my friends even when 
I do not write to them, and of loving them not one jot the 
less, though I leave them to starve for want of a letter 
from me." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 16th August, 1789, Cowper 
thus describes the situation in which he was then placed, 
and the state of his mind at the time. Mrs. Newton and 
you are both kind and just in believing that I do not love 
you the less when I am long silent ; perhaps a friend of 
mine who wishes to be always in my thoughts, is never so 
effectually possessed of the accomplishment of that wish, 
as when I have been long his debtor; for then I think of 
him, not only every day, but day and night ; and indeed 
all day long. But I confess at the same time that my 
thoughts of you will be more pleasant to myself, when I 
shall have exonerated my conscience by giving you the 
letter, so long your due. Therefore, here it comes, — little 
worth your having, but payment such as it is, that you 
have a right to expect, and that is essential to my own 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. 235 

tranquillity, That the Iliad and the Odyssey should have 
proved the occasion of my suspending my correspondence 
with you, is a proof how little we see the consequences of 
what we publish. Homer, I dare say, hardly at all sus- 
pected, that at the fag end of time, two personages would 
appear, one ycleped, Sir Newton, and the other Sir Cow- 
per, who loving each other heartily, would nevertheless 
suffer the pains of an interrupted intercourse, — his poems 
the cause. So, however, it has happened ; and though it 
would not, I suppose, extort from the old bard a single 
sigh, if he knew it, yet to me it suggests the serious reflec- 
tion above mentioned. An author by profession had need 
narrowly to watch his pen, lest a line should escape it, 
which by possibility may do mischief, when he has been 
long dead and buried. What we have done when we have 
written a book, will never be known till the day of judg- 
ment : then the account will be liquidated, and all the 
good that it has occasioned, and all the evil, will witness, 
either for or against us. I am now in the last book of the 
Odyssey, yet have still I suppose, half a year's work be- 
fore me. The accurate revisal of two such voluminous 
poems can hardly cost me less. I rejoice, however, that 
the goal is in prospect ; for though it has cost me years to 
run this race, it is only now that I begin to have a glimpse 
of its termination. That I shall never receive any propor- 
tionable pecuniary recompense for my long labours, is 
pretty certain ; and as to any fame that I may possibly 
gain by it, that is a commodity that daily sinks in value, 
in measure as the consummation of all things approaches. 
In the day when the lion shall dandle the kid, and a little 
child shall lead them, the world will have lost all relish 
for the fabulous legends of antiquity, and Homer and his 
translator may budge off the stage together." 

Some months afterwards, to the same correspondent 



236 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Cowper thus writes. " On this fine first of December, 
under an unclouded sky, and in a room full of sunshine, I 
address myself to the payment of a debt, long in arrear, 
but never forgotten by me, however I may have seemed to 
forget it. I will not waste time in apologies, I have but 
one, and that one will suggest itself unmentioned. I will 
only add that you are the first to whom I write, of several 
to whom I have not written many months, who all have 
claims upon me ; and who, I flatter myself, are all grum- 
bling at my silence. In your case, perhaps I have been 
less anxious than in the case of some others ; because, if 
you have not heard from myself, you have heard from Mrs. 
Unwin. From her you have learned that I live, that I am 
as well as usual, and that I translate Homer : three short 
items, but in which is comprised the whole detail of my 
present history. Thus I fared when you were here ; thus I 
have fared ever since you were here ; and thus, if it please 
God, I shall continue to fare for some time longer : for, 
though the work is done, it is not finished ; a riddle which 
you, who are a brother of the press, will solve easily. I 
have been the less anxious on your behalf, because I have 
had frequent opportunities to hear from you ; and have 
always heard that you are in good health, and happy. Of 
Mrs. Newton too, I have heard more favourable accounts 
of late, which has given us both the sincerest pleasure. 
Mrs. Un win's case is, at present, my only subject of unea- 
siness, that is not immediately personal, and properly my 
own. She has almost constant head-aches ; almost a con- 
stant pain in her side, which nobody understands ; and her 
lameness, within the last half year, is very little amended. 
But her spirits are good, because supported by comforts 
which depend not on the state of the body ; and I do not 
know that with all her pain, her appearance is at all al- 
tered, since we had the happiness to see you here, unless 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 237 

indeed it be altered a little for the better. I have thus 
given you as circumstantial an account of ourselves as I 
could : the most interesting matter, I verily believe, with 
which I could have filled my paper, unless I could have 
made spiritual mercies to myself the subject. In my next 
perhaps I shall find time to bestow a few lines on what is 
doing in France, and in the Austrian Netherlands ; though, 
to say the truth, I am much better qualified to write an 
essay on the seige of Troy, than to descant on any of these 
modern revolutions. I question if, in either of the coun- 
tries just mentioned, full of bustle and tumult as they are, 
there be a single character, whom Homer, were he living, 
would deign to make his hero. The populace are the he- 
roes now, and the stuff of which gentlemen heroes are 
made, seems to be all expended." 

The year 1790, found Cowper still indefatigably engaged 
in preparing his translation for the press. In a letter to 
Mrs. King, 4th January, he thus writes. " Your long si- 
lence has occasioned me a thousand anxious thoughts 
about you. So long it has been, that whether I now write 
to a Mrs. King at present on earth, or already in heaven, 
I know not. I have friends whose silence troubles me less, 
though I have known them longer ; because, if I hear not 
from themselves, I yet hear from others, that they are still 
living, and likely to live. But if your letters cease to bring 
me news of your welfare, from whom can I gain the desir- 
able intelligence ? The birds of the air will not bring it, 
and third person there is none between us by whom it 
might be conveyed. Nothing is plain to me in this subject, 
but that either you are dead, or very much indisposed, or 
which would perhaps affect me with as deep a concern, 
though of a different kind, very much offended. The latter 
of those suppositions I think the least probable, conscious 
as I am of an habitual desire to offend nobody, especially a 



238 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER 

lady, and a lady too who has laid me under so many obli- 
gations. But all the three solutions above mentioned are 
very uncomfortable ; and if you live, and can send me one 
that will cause me less pain than either of them, I conjure 
you by the charity and benevolence which I know influ- 
ence you on all occasions, to communicate it without delay. 
It is possible, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, 
that you are not become perfectly indifferent to me, and to 
what concerns me. I will therefore add a word or two on 
the subject which once interested you, and which is, for 
that reason, worthy to be mentioned, though truly for no 
other. I am well, and have been so (uneasiness on your 
part excepted) both in mind and body ever since I wrote 
to you last. I have still the same employment ; Homer in 
the morning, and Homer in the evening, as constant as the 
day goes round. In the spring I hope to send the Iliad 
and the Odyssey to the press. So much for me and my 
occupations." 

It would scarcely be supposed that a person performing 
such an Herculean task as that of translating Homer, would 
have troubled himself to compose, or even to revise, a vo- 
lume of hymns for children. The following extract, how- 
ever, will show that, anxious as Cowper was to finish his 
Homer, he could nevertheless, allow his attention to be, in 
a great measure, diverted from it, at least for a time, when 
he thought he could employ his talents usefully. " I 
have long been silent, but you have had the charity, I hope, 
and believe, not to ascribe my silence to a wrong cause. 
The truth is, I have been too busy to write to any body, 
having been obliged to give my early mornings to the re- 
visal and correction of a little volume of hymns for children, 
written by I know not whom ; this task I finished yester- 
day, and while it was in hand, wrote only to my cousin, 
and to her rarely. From her, however, I knew that you 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 239 

would hear of my well being, which made me less anxious 
about my debts to you than I could have been otherwise. 
The winter has been mild ; but our winters are in general 
such, that when a friend leaves us in the beginning of that 
season, I always feel in my heart a perhaps, importing that 
we may possibly have met for the last time, and that the 
robins may whistle on the grave of one of us before the re- 
turn of summer. Though I have been employed as des- 
cribed above, I am still thrumming Homer's lyre • that is 
to say, I am still employed in my last revisal ; and to give 
you some idea of the intenseness of my toils, I will inform 
you that it cost me all the morning yesterday, and all the 
evening, to translate a single simile to my mind. The tran- 
sitions from one member of the subject to another, though 
easy and natural in the Greek, turn out often so intolerably 
awkward in an English version, that almost endless labour, 
and no little address, are requisite to give them grace and 
elegance. The under parts of the poem, (those, I mean, 
which are merely narrative,) I find the most difficult. — 
These can only be supported by the diction, and on these, 
for that reason, I have bestowed the most abundant labour. 
Fine similies, and fine speeches, are more likely to take 
care of themselves ; but the exact process of slaying a 
sheep and dressing it, is not so easy in our language, and 
in our measure to dignify. But T shall have the comfort, 
as I before said, to reflect, that whatever may be hereafter 
laid to my charge, the sin of idleness will not, — justly, at 
least, it never will. In the mean time, I must be allowed 
to say, that not to fall short of the original in every thing, 
is impossible. I thank you for your German clavis, which 
has been of considerable use to me ; I am indebted to it for 
a right understanding of the manner in which Achilles pre- 
pared pork, mutton, and goats' flesh, for the entertainment 
of his friends, on the night when they came deputed by 



240 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Agamemnon to negociate a reconciliation. A passage of 
which nobody in the world is perfectly master, myself only, 
and Schaulfelbergerus excepted, nor ever was, except when 
Greek was a living language." 

About this time, Mrs. King appears to have been in- 
formed that it was Cowper's intention to leave Weston, 
and that Mrs. Unwin had been making inquiries after a 
house at Huntingdon. Adverting to this report, in a letter 
to that lady, he thus writes. — " The report that informed 
you of enquiries made by Mrs. Unwin, after a house at 
Huntingdon, was unfounded. We have no thought of 
quitting Weston, unless the same Providence that led us 
hither should lead us away. It is a situation the most 
eligible, perfectly agreeable to us both, and to me in parti- 
cular, who write much, and walk much, and, consequently, 
love silence and retirement. If it has a fault, it is, that it 
seems to threaten us with a certainty of never seeing you. 
But may we not hope that when a milder season shall have 
improved your health, we may yet, notwithstanding the 
distance, be favoured with Mr. King's and your company? 
A better season will likewise improve the roads, and exactly 
in proportion as it does so, will, in effect, lessen the inter- 
val between us. I know not if Mr. Martyn be a mathe- 
matician, but most probably he is a good one, and he can 
tell you that this is a proposition mathematically true, 
though rather paradoxical in appearance." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, 5 February 1790, Cowper 
again plaintively describes the state of his mind. — " Your 
kind letter deserved a speedier answer, but you know my 
excuse, which were I to repeat always, my letters would 
resemble the fag end of a newspaper, where we always find 
the price of stocks, detailed with little or no variation. 
When January returns, you have your feelings concerning 
me, and such as prove the faithfulness of your friendship. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 241 

I have mine also concerning myself, but they are of a cast 
different from yours. Yours have a mixture of sympathy 
and tender solicitude, which makes them, perhaps, not 
altogether unpleasant. Mine, on the contrary, are of an 
unmixed nature, and consist simply, and merely, of the 
most alarming apprehensions. Twice has that month re- 
turned upon me, accompanied by such horrors, as I have 
no reason to suppose ever made part of the experience of 
any other man. I, accordingly, look forward to it, and 
meet it with a dread not to be imagined. I number the 
nights as they pass, and in the morning bless myself that 
another night is gone, and no harm has happened. This 
may argue, perhaps, some imbecility of mind, and, indeed, 
no small degree of it; but it is natural, I believe, and so 
natural as to be necessary and unavoidable. I know that 
God is not governed by secondary causes, in any of his 
operations; and that, on the contrary, they are all so many 
agents, in his hand, which strike only when he bids them. 
I know, consequently, that one month is as dangerous to 
me as another; and that in the middle of summer, at noon- 
day, and in the clear sunshine, I am, in reality, unless 
guarded by Him, as much exposed as when fast asleep at 
midnight, and mid-winter. But we are not always the 
wiser for our knowledge, and I can no more avail myself of 
mine, in this case, than if it were in the head of any other 
man, and not in my own. I have heard of bodily aches 
and ails, that have been particularly troublesome when the 
season returned in which the hurt that occasioned them 
was received. The mind, I believe, (with my own, how- 
ever, I am sure it is so,) is liable to similar periodical affec- 
tion. But February is come; January, my terror, is passed; 
and some shades of the gloom that attended his presence 
have passed with him. I look forward with a little cheer- 
fulness to the buds and the leaves that will soon appear, 

R 



242 ™E LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

and say to myself, till they turn yellow, I will make myself 
easy. The year will go round, and January will approach, 
I shall tremble again, and I know it ; but in the mean time 
I will be as comfortable as I can. Thus, with respect to 
peace of mind, such as it is, that I enjoy. I subsist, as the 
poor are vulgarly said to do, from hand to mouth ; and of a 
Christian, such as you once knew me, am, by a strange 
transformation, become an epicurean philosopher, bearing 
this motto on my mind, — Quid sit futurum eras, fuge 
qu&rere." 

Towards the end of this month, Cowper received as a 
present, from Mrs. Bodham, a cousin of his, then residing 
in Norfolk, his mother's portrait. The following extracts 
will show the powerful impression which this circumstance 
made upon his tender mind : — " My dearest Rose, * whom 
I thought withered and fallen from the stalk, but whom I 
find still alive : nothing could give me greater pleasure 
than to know it, and to learn it from yourself. I loved 
you dearly when you were a child, and love you not a jot 
the less for having ceased to be so. Every creature that 
bears any affinity to my mother is dear to me, and you, the 
daughter of her brother, are but one remove distant from 
her. I love you, therefore, and love you much, both for 
her sake, and for your own. The world could not have 
furnished you with a present so acceptable to me as the 
picture you have so kindly sent me. I received it the night 
before last, and received it with a trepidation of nerves and 
spirits, somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the 
dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, 
and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, 
and, of course, the first that I open my eyes upon in the 
morning. She died when I had completed my sixth year, 

* Mrs. Bodham's name is Anne, but Cowper always called her Rose, when 
a child, and was aware that she would remember his doing so. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 243 

yet I remember her well, and am an ocular witness of the 
great fidelity of the copy. I remember too, a multitude of 
the maternal tendernesses which I received from her, and 
which have endeared her memory to me beyond expression. 
There is, I believe, in me, more of the Donne than of the 
Cowper, and though I love all of both names, and have a 
thousand reasons to love those of my own name, yet I feel 
the bond of nature draw me vehemently to your side. I 
was thought, in the days of my childhood, much to resem- 
ble my mother, and in my natural temper, of which, at the 
age of fifty-eight, I must be supposed a competent judge, 
can trace both her, and my late uncle, your father. Some- 
what of his irritability, and a little, I would hope, both of 

his, and of her , I know not what to call it, without 

seeming to praise myself, which is not my intention; but 
speaking to you, I will even speak out, and say goodnature. 
Add to all this, I deal much in poetry, as did our venerable 
ancestor, the Dean of St. Paul's, and I think I shall have 
proved myself a Donne at all points. The truth is, what- 
ever I am, and wherever I am, I love you all." 

To Lady Hesketh he thus adverts to the circumstance. 
" I am delighted with Mrs. Bodham's kindness in giving 
me the only picture of my mother that is to be found, I 
suppose, in all the world. I had rather possess it than the 
richest jewel in the British crown, for I loved her with an 
affection, that her death, fifty years since, has not in the 
least abated. I remember her too, young as I was when 
she died, well enough to know that it is a very exact re- 
semblance of her, and as such it is to me invaluable. — 
Every body loved her, and with an amiable character so 
impressed on all her features, every body was sure to do so. 

To John Johnson, Esq., 28th February, 1790, he thus 
records his feelings on this occasion. " I was never more 
pleased in my life than to learn, and to learn from herself, 

r2 



244 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

that my dearest Rose is still alive. Had she not engaged 
me to love her by the sweetness of her character when a 
child, she would have done it effectually now, by making 
me the most acceptable present in the world, my own dear 
mother's picture. I am perhaps the only person living 
who remembers her, but I remember her well, and can at- 
test on my own knowledge, the truth of the resemblance. 
Amiable and elegant as the countenance is, such exactly 
was her own ; she was one of the tenderest parents, and so 
just a copy of her, is therefore to me invaluable. I wrote 
yesterday to my Rose, to tell her all this, and to thank her 
for her kindness in sending it ! Neither do I forget your 
kindness, who intimated to her that I should be happy to 
possess it. She invites me into Norfolk, but alas ! she 
might as well invite the house in which I dwell ; for, all 
other considerations and impediments apart, how is it pos- 
sible that a translator of Homer should lumber to such a 
distance. But though I cannot comply with her kind invi- 
tation, I have made myself the best amends in my power, by 
inviting her, and all the family of Donnes, to Weston." 
To Mrs. King, on the same interesting occasion, he writes, 
" I have lately received from a female cousin of mine in 
Norfolk, whom I have not seen these five-and-twenty 
years, a picture of my own mother. She died when I 
wanted two days of being six years old ; yet I remember 
her perfectly, find the picture a strong resemblance of her, 
and because her memory has been ever precious to me, I 
have written a poem on the receipt of it ; a poem which, 
one excepted, I had more pleasure in writing than any 
that I ever wrote. That one was addressed to a lady 
whom I expect in a few minutes to come down to break- 
fast, and who has supplied to me the place of my own mo- 
ther — my own invaluable mother, these six-and-twenty 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 245 

years. Some sons may be said to have had many fathers, 
but a plurality of mothers is not common." 

In May of this year, 1790, Cowper thus describes the 
manner in which he was employed. " I am still at my 
old sport — Homer all the morning, and Homer all the 
evening. Thus have I been held in constant employment, 
I know not exactly how many, but I believe these six 
years, an interval of eight months excepted. It is now 
become so familiar to me to take Homer from my shelf at 
a certain hour, that I shall, no doubt, continue to take him 
from my shelf at the same time, even after I have ceased 
to want him. That period is not far distant. I am now 
giving the last touches to a work, which had I foreseen 
the difficulty of it, I should never have meddled with ; but 
which, having at length nearly finished it to my mind, I 
shall discontinue with regret." 

Perhaps no one was ever better qualified to give sound 
and judicious advice to persons in various conditions in 
life than Cowper, and no one certainly ever gave it more 
cheerfully, or in a manner more perfectly unassuming. An 
instance of this occurred in a letter which he wrote in 
June of this year, to his cousin, John Johnson, Esq., who 
was then pursuing his studies at Cambridge, who had re- 
cently been introduced to him, and for whom he enter- 
tained the most affectionate regard. " You never pleased 
me more than when you told me you had abandoned your 
mathematical pursuits. It grieved me to think that you 
were wasting your time merely to gain a little Cambridge 
fame; not scarcely worth your having. I cannot be con- 
tented that your renown should thrive nowhere but on the 
banks of the Cam. Conceive a nobler ambition, and ne- 
ver let your honour be circumscribed by the paltry dimen- 
sions of a University. It is well that you have already, as 



246 THE LIFE °F WILLIAM COWPER. 

you observe, acquired sufficient information in that science 
to enable you to pass creditably such examinations as I 
suppose you must hereafter undergo. Keep what you have 
gotten, and be content ; more is needless. You could not 
apply to a worse than I am to advise you concerning your 
studies. I was never a regular student myself, but lost 
the most valuable part of my life in an attorney's office, 
and in the Temple. I will not therefore give myself airs, 
and affect to know what I know not. The affair is of great 
importance to you, and you should be directed by a wiser 
than I. To speak, however, in very general terms on the 
subject, it seems to me that your chief concern is with his- 
tory, natural philosophy, logic, and divinity ; as to meta- 
physics, I know but little about them. But the very little 
I do know has not taught me to admire them. Life is too 
short to afford time even for serious trifles ; pursue what you 
know to be attainable,; make truth your object, and your 
studies will make you a wise man." 

In the summer of 1790, much as Cowper's time was oc- 
cupied in giving the finishing touch to his Homer, he ne- 
vertheless, at the suggestion of some friend, undertook to 
translate a series of Latin letters, received from a Dutch 
minister of the gospel, at the Cape of Good Hope. This 
occupation, though it left him but little time for writing to 
his numerous correspondents, afforded him considerable 
pleasure. There was a congeniality in it to the prevailing 
disposition of his mind, and in a letter to Mr. Newton, 
who requested him to publish these letters, he thus writes. 
" I have no objection at all to being known as the trans- 
lator of Van Leer's letters, when they shall be published. 
Rather, I am ambitious of it as an honour. It will serve 
to prove that if I have spent much time to little purpose 
in the translation of Homer, some small portion of my time 
has, however, been well disposed of." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 247 

It will have been perceived, from the extracts we have 
already made, that Cowper's gloomy peculiarity of mind 
still prevailed, at least occasionally, to a painful extent. 
It is true, he adverts to it in his letters, at this time, less 
frequently than formerly; he introduces it, however, suf- 
ficiently often to show, that it had undergone no diminu- 
tion, and that it was suppressed only by the intense appli- 
cation which his engagements required. The following 
extracts from his letters written towards the close of 1790, 
will describe the state of his mind in this respect, at that 
period. " I have singularities of which I believe, at pre- 
sent you know nothing ; and which would fill you with 
wonder if you knew them. I will add, however, injustice to 
myself, that they would not lower me in your good opinion ; 
though perhaps they might tempt you to question the sound- 
ness of my upper story. Almost twenty years have I been 
thus unhappily circumstanced ; and the remedy is in the 
hands of God only. That I make you this partial com- 
munication on the subject, conscious at the same time that 
you are well worthy to be entrusted with the whole, is 
merely because the recital would be too long for a letter, 
and painful both to me and to you. But all this may 
vanish in a moment, and if it please God, it shall. In the 
mean time, my dear Madam, remember me in your prayers, 
and mention me at those times, as one whom it has pleased 
God to afflict with singular visitations. Twice I have been 
overwhelmed with the blackest despair ; and at those times, 
every thing in which I have been at any time of my life 
concerned, has afforded to the enemy a handle against me. 
I tremble, therefore, almost at every step I take, lest on 
some future similar occasion, it should yield him opportu- 
nity, and furnish him with means to torment me/' 

On another occasion he thus whites : — " A yellow shower 
\>f leaves is now continually falling from all the trees in the 



248 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. 

country. A few moments only seem to have passed since 
they were buds ; and in a few moments more they will have 
disappeared ! It is one advantage of a rural situation, that 
it affords many hints of the rapidity with which life flies, 
that do not occur in towns and cities. It is impossible for 
a man, conversant with such scenes as surround me, not 
to advert daily to the shortness of his existence here, ad- 
monished of it, as he must be, by ten thousand objects. 
There was a time when I could contemplate my present 
state, and consider myself as a thing of the day with 
pleasure 7 when I numbered the seasons, as they passed in 
swift rotation, as a schoolboy numbers the days that in- 
terpose between the next vacation, when he shall see his 
parents, and enjoy his home again. But to make so just 
an estimate of a life like this, is no longer in my power. 
The consideration of my short continuance here, which was 
once grateful to me, now fills me with regret. I would 
live, and live always, and am become such another wretch 
as Maecenas was, who wished for long life — he cared not 
at what expense of sufferings. The only consolation left 
me on this subject is, that the voice of the Almighty can, 
in one moment, cure me of this mental infirmity. That 
He can, I know by experience ; and there are reasons for 
which I ought to believe that he will. But from hope to 
despair is a transition that I have made so often, that I can 
only consider the hope that may come, and that sometimes 
I believe will, as a short prelude of joy, to a miserable 
conclusion of sorrow, that shall never end. Thus are my 
brightest prospects clouded ; and thus, to me, is hope 
itself become like a withered flower, that has lost both 
its hue and its fragrance. I ought not to have written in 
this dismal strain to you, nor did I intend it ; you have 
more need to be cheered than saddened ; but a dearth of 
other themes constrained me to choose myself for a subject, 
and of myself I can write no otherwise." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 249 

Early in December, 1790, Cowper had a short but severe 
attack of that nervous fever to which he was very subject, 
and which he dreaded above all others, because it generally 
preceded a most severe paroxysm of melancholy. Happily, 
on this occasion, it lasted only for a short time ; and in a 
letter to Mrs. King, dated the last day of the year, he thus 
records his feelings on the occasion : — "I have lately been 
visited with an indisposition much more formidable than 
that which I mentioned to you in my last — a nervous 
fever, a disorder to which I am subject, and which I dread 
above all others, because it comes attended by a me- 
lancholy perfectly insupportable. This is the first day of 
my complete recovery, the first in which I have perceived 
no symptoms of my terrible malady. I wish to be thankful 
to the Sovereign Dispenser both of health and of sickness, 
that, though I have felt cause enough to tremble, He gives 
me now encouragement to hope that I may dismiss my 
fears, and expect an escape from my depressive malady. 
The only drawback to the comfort I now feel, is the intel- 
ligence contained in yours, that neither Mr. King nor 
yourself are well. I dread always, both for my own health 
and for that of my friends, the unhappy influences of a year 
worn out. But, my dear Madam, this is the last day of 
it, and I resolve to hope that the new year shall obliterate 
all the disagreeables of the old one. J can wish nothing 
more warmly, than that it may prove a propitious year for 
you." 

In the autumn of this year Cowper had sent his 
u Homer " to the press ; and through the whole of the 
ensuing winter he was closely employed in correcting the 
proof-sheets, and making such alterations as he still 
thought desirable. The time which this consumed, and 
the indefatigable industry with which he engaged in it, 
will be seen by the following extracts : — " My poetical 
operations, I mean of the occasional kind, have lately been 



250 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

pretty much at a stand. I told you, I believe, in my last, 
that " Homer," in the present stage of the process, oc- 
cupied me more intensely than ever. He still continues to 
do so, and threatens, till he shall be completely finished, 
to make all other composition impracticable. I am sick 
and ashamed of myself that I forgot my promise, but it is 
actually true that I did forget it. You, however, I did not 
forget ; nor did I forget to wonder and be alarmed at your 
silence, being myself perfectly unconscious of my arrears. 
All this, together with various other trespasses of mine, 
must be set down to the account of Homer ; and, wherever 
he is, he is bound to make his apology to all my corre- 
spondents, but to you in particular. True it is, that if 
Mrs. Unwin did not call me from that pursuit, I should 
forget, in the ardour with which I persevere in it, both to 
eat and to drink, if not to retire to rest ! This zeal has 
increased in me regularly as I have proceeded, and in an 
exact ratio, as a mathematician would say, to the progress 
I have made towards the point at which I have been 
aiming. You will believe this, when I tell you that, not 
contented with my previous labours, I have actually revised 
the whole work, and have made a thousand alterations in 
it since it has been in the press. I have now, however, 
tolerably well satisfied myself at least, and trust that 
the printer and I shall trundle along merrily to the 
conclusion." 

In the commencement of 1791, Cowper's long-tried 
friend, Mr. Newton, lost his wife. She died some time in 
January, after many months' severe suffering, borne with 
exemplary fortitude and patience. She had always taken 
a lively interest in Cowper's welfare ; and, when she re- 
sided at Olney, had frequently assisted Mrs. Unwin in the 
arduous duty of watching over the poet, during his painful 
mental depression. Her decease, therefore, was sure to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 251 

affect him deeply; and the following extracts from his 
letters to Mr. Newton, on this trying occasion, will not 
fail to be interesting : — ° Had you been a man of the 
world, I should have held myself bound, by the law of 
ceremonies, to have sent you long since my tribute of 
condolence. I have sincerely mourned with you ; and 
though you have lost a wife, and I only a friend, yet do 
I understand too well the value of such a friend as 
Mrs. Newton, not to have sympathized with you very 
nearly. But you are not a man of the world ; neither can 
you, who have the scripture, and the Giver of the scripture 
to console you, have any need of aid from others, or expect 
it from such spiritual imbecility as mine." 

'•' It affords me sincere pleasure that you enjoy serenity 
of mind, after your great loss. It is well in all circum- 
stances, even in the most afflictive, with those who have 
God for their comforter. You do me justice in giving 
entire credit to my expressions of friendship for you. No 
day passes in which I do not look back to the days that 
are fled, and consequently none in which I do not feel 
myself affectionately reminded of you, and of her whom 
you have lost for a season. I cannot even see Olney spire 
from any of the fields in the neighbourhood, much less can 
I enter the town, and still less the vicarage, without ex- 
periencing the force of those mementoes, and recollecting 
a multitude of passages to which you and yours were 
parties. The past would appear a dream, were the re- 
membrance of it less affecting. It was, in the most im- 
portant respects, so unlike my present moment, that I am 
sometimes almost tempted to suppose it a dream ! But the 
difference between dreams and realities long since elapsed, 
seems to consist chiefly in this: that a dream, however 
painful or pleasant at the time, and perhaps for a few 
ensuing hours, passes like an arrow through the air, leaving 



252 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

no trace of its flight behind it ; but our actual experiences 
make a lasting impression. We review those which in- 
terested us much when they occurred, with hardly less 
interest than in the first instance ; and whether few years 
or many have intervened, our sensibility makes them still 
present — such a mere nullity is time, to a creature to 
whom God gives a feeling heart and the faculty of 
recollection. " 

In June, 1791, having completed his long and arduous 
undertaking — the translation of " Homer," he thus writes 
to Mr. Newton on the occasion : — " Considering the mul- 
tiplicity of your engagements, and the importance, no 
doubt, of most of them, I am bound to set the higher 
value on your letters ; and, instead of grumbling that they 
come so seldom, to be thankful to you that they come at 
all. You are now going into the country, where I presume 
you will have less to do ; and I am rid of " Homer :" let 
us try, therefore, if in the interval between the present 
hour and the next busy season (for I too, if I live, shall 
probably be occupied again), we can contrive to exchange 
letters more frequently than for some time past. You do 
justice to me, and to Mrs. Unwin, when you assure your- 
self that to hear of your health, will give us pleasure. I 
know not, in truth, whose health and well-being could 
give us more. The years that we have seen together will 
never be out of our remembrance; and, so long as we 
remember them, we must remember you with affection. 
In the pulpit, and out of the pulpit, you have laboured in 
every possible way to serve us ; and we must have a short 
memory indeed for the kindness of a friend, could we by 
any means become forgetful of yours. It would grieve me 
more than it does, to hear you complain of the effects of 
time, were not I also myself the subject of them. While 
he is wearing out you and other dear friends of mine, he 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 253 

spares not me; for which I ought to account myself 
obliged to him, since I should otherwise be in danger of 
surviving all that I have ever loved — the most melancholy 
lot that can befal a mortal. God knows what will be my 
doom hereafter ; but precious as life necessarily seems to a 
mind doubtful of its future happiness, I love not the world, 
I trust, so much, as to wish a place in it when all my 
beloved shall have left it. As to Homer, I am sensible 
that, except as an amusement, he was never worth my 
meddling with ; but, as an amusement, he was to me in- 
valuable. As such, he served me more than five years ; 
and in that respect I know not, at present, where I shall 
find his equal. You oblige me by saying, that you will 
read him for my sake. I verily believe that any person of 
a spiritual turn may read him to some advantage. He 
may suggest reflections that may not be unserviceable, 
even in a sermon ; for I know not where we can find more 
striking examples of the pride, the arrogance, and the 
insignificance of man ; at the same time that, by ascribing 
all events to a divine interposition, he inculcates constantly 
the belief of a Providence; insists much on the duty of 
charity towards the poor and the stranger ; on the respect 
that is due to superiors, and to our seniors in particular ; 
and on the expedience and necessity of prayer and piety 
towards the gods ; a piety mistaken indeed in its object, 
but exemplary for the punctuality of its performance. — 
Thousands who will not learn from scripture to ask a 
blessing, either on their actions or on their food, may 
learn it, if they please, from Homer." 

It appears from the above extract that Cowper had no 
expectations of again seeing his Homer until it was actually 
before the public. Johnson, the publisher, however, unex- 
pectedly to him, sent him an interleaved copy, and recom- 
mended him to revise it again before it was fully committed 



254 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COVVPER. 

to the press. On this occasion, he thus writes to his friend 
Mr. Newton : — " I did not foresee, when I challenged you 
to a brisker correspondence, that a new engagement of all 
my leisure time was at hand, — a new, and yet an old one. 
An interleaved copy of my Homer arrived soon after from 
Johnson, in which he recommended it to me to make any 
alterations that might yet be expedient, with a view to an- 
other impression. The alterations that I make are, indeed, 
but few, and they are also short ; not more, perhaps, than 
half a line in two thousand. But the lines are, T suppose, 
nearly forty thousand in all ; and to revise them critically 
must consequently be a work of time and labour. I sus- 
pend it, however, for your sake, till the present sheet be 
filled, and that I may not seem to shrink from my own 
offer. Were I capable of envying, in the strict sense of the 
word, a good man, I should envy Mr. Venn, and Mr. 
Berridge, and yourself, who have spent, and while they 
last, will continue to spend, your lives in the service of the 
only Master worth serving; labouring always for the souls 
of men, and not to tickle their ears, as I do. But this I 
can say, God knows how much rather I would be the ob- 
scure tenant of a lath and plaster cottage, with a lively 
sense of my interest in a Redeemer, than the most admired 
object of public notice without it. Alas ! what is a whole 
poem, even one of Homer's, compared with a single aspira- 
tion that finds its way immediately to God, though clothed 
in ordinary language, or perhaps, not articulated at all. — 
These are my sentiments as much as ever they were, though 
my days are all running to waste among Greeks and Tro- 
jans. The night cometh when no man can work; and if I 
am ordained to work to better purpose, that desirable period 
cannot be far distant. My day is beginning to shut in, as 
every man's must, who is on the verge of sixty." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COW PER. 255 



CHAPTER XV. 

Publication of his Homer — Anxiety respecting it — To whom dedicated 
— Benefits he had derived from it — Feels the want of employment 

— Prepares materials for a splendid edition of Milton's poetic 
works — Vindicates his character — Attempts of his friends to dis- 
suade him from his new engagement — His replies — The com- 
mencement of his acquaintance with Mr. Hayley — Pleasure it 
afforded Mr. Hayley — Mrs. Unwin's first attack of paralysis — 
Manner in which it affected Cowper — Remarks on Milton's 
labours — Reply to Mr. Newton's letter for original composition — 
Continuance of his depression — First letter from Mr. Hayley — 
L'npleasant circumstance respecting it — Mr. Hayley's first visit to 
Weston — Kind manner in which he was received — Mrs. Unwin's 
second severe paralytic attack — Cowper's feelings on the occasion 

— Mr. Hayley's departure — Cowper's warm attachment to him — 
Reflections on the recent changes he had witnessed — Promises to 
visit Eartham — Makes preparations for the journey — Peculiarity 
of his feelings on the occasion. 

On the 1st July 1791, Cowper's Homer appeared. — 
After so many years incessant toil, it was not to be ex- 
pected that he would feel otherwise than anxious respect- 
ing the reception it met with from the public. He had 
laboured indefatigably to produce a faithful and free trans- 
lation of the inimitable original, and he could not be in- 
different to the result. To Mrs. King; he thus writes on 
the occasion: — u My Homer is gone forth, and I can sin- 
cerely say, — joy go with it! What place it holds in the 
estimation of the generality I cannot tell, having heard no 
more about it since its publication than if no such work 



256 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

existed. I must except, however, an anonymous eulogium 
from some man of letters, which I received about a week 
ago. It was kind in a perfect stranger, as he avows him- 
self to be, to relieve me in some degree, at least, at so early 
a day, from, much of the anxiety that I could not but feel 
on such an occasion: I should be glad to know who he is, 
only that I might thank him/' 

Cowper, very properly, dedicated the Illiad to his noble 
relative Earl Cowper, and the Odyssey to the dowager 
Countess Spencer, whom, in one of his letters he thus des- 
cribes: — u We had a visit on Monday from one of the first 
women in the world; I mean, in point of character and 
accomplishments, — the Dowager Lady Spencer! I may 
receive, perhaps, some honours hereafter, should my trans- 
lation speed according to my wishes, and the pains I have 
taken with it; but shall never receive any that I esteem so 
highly; she is indeed, worthy, to whom I should dedicate, 
and may but my Odyssey prove as worthy of her, I shall 
have nothing to fear from the critics." 

Whether it arose from the unreasonable expectations of 
the public, or from the utter impossibility of conveying all 
the graces and the beauties of these unrivalled poems, in a 
translation, it is certain that the volumes, when they ap- 
peared, did not give that satisfaction, either to the author, 
or to his readers, which had been anticipated. It would, 
perhaps, be difficult, if not impossible, to assign a better 
reason, for the imperfection of Cowper's translation, if im- 
perfection it deserves to be called, than that mentioned by 
his justly admired biographer, Mr. Hayley. — " Homer is 
so exquisitely beautiful in his own language, and he has 
been so long an idol in every literary mind, that any copy 
of him, which the best of modern poets can execute, must 
probably resemble in its effect, the portrait of a graceful 
woman, painted by an excellent artist for her lover; the 



TFIE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 257 

lover, indeed, will acknowledge great merit in the work, 
and think himself much indebted to the skill of such an 
artist, but he will never acknowledge, as in truth he never 
can feel, that the best of resemblances exhibits all the 
grace that he discerns in the beloved original. So fares it 
with the admirers of Homer ; his very translators them- 
selves, feel so perfectly the power of this predominant af- 
fection, that they gradually grow discontented with their 
own labour, however approved in the moment of its sup- 
posed completion. This was so remarkably the case with 
Cowper, that in process of time we shall see him employed 
upon what may almost be called his second translation, so 
great were the alterations he made in a deliberate revisal of 
the work, for a second edition. And in the preface to that 
edition, he has spoken of his own labour with the most 
frank and ingenuous veracity. Yet of the first edition it 
may, I think, be fairly said, that it accomplished more 
than any of his poetical predecessors had achieved before 
him. It made the nearest approach to that sweet majestic 
simplicity which forms one of the most attractive features 
in the great prince and father of poets." 

If Cowper had derived no other benefit from his trans- 
lation, than that of constant employment, for so long a 
time, when he stood so much in need of it, it would have 
been to him invaluable, as the best and most effectual 
remedy for that inordinate sensibility to which he was 
subject. Besides this, however, it procured him other 
advantages of paramount importance; it improved the 
general state of his health; it introduced him to a circle of 
literary friends, whom he would otherwise never have 
known, and who, when they once knew him, could not fail 
to * feel affectionately interested in his welfare; it brought 
him into closer contact with those with whom he had pre- 
viously been acquainted, by inducing him to avail him- 



258 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

self of their kind offers and assistance in the transcribing 
way, # which to a mind like his could not fail to become a 
source of almost uninterrupted enjoyment ; it established 
his reputation as a most accomplished scholar, and unques- 
tionably ranked him among the highest class of poets. 

A living writer has well remarked, that " to Cowper's 
translation of Homer, we are beholden, not only for the 
pleasure, which a perusal will be sure to afford to reason- 
able and patient readers, but we may attribute to its happy 
possession of his mind all the beautiful and inimitable 
letters which appear in his correspondence, during the pro- 
gress of that work. The toil of daily turning over the 
thoughts of the greatest of poets, in every form of Eng- 
lish that his ingenuity could devise, occupied, for many 
years, that very portion of his time which, with a person 
of no profession, and having no stated duties to perform, 
lies heaviest upon the spirit. The salutary exercise of his 
morning studies made him relish with keener zest the re- 
laxation of his social hours, .or those welcome opportunities 
of epistolary converse with the absent, in which it is 
evident that much of the little happiness allowed to him 
lay ; he is never more at home, consequently never more 
amiable, sprightly, and entertaining, and even poetical, 
than in his correspondence, when he pours out all the 
treasures of his mind and the affections of his heart, upon 
the paper which is to be the speaking representative of 
himself to those he loves. It has often been regretted 
that instead of this labour in vain, as the translation of 
Homer has sometimes seemed to many, he had not spent 
an equal portion of time and talent on original composi- 

* It is said that Broome assisted Pope very largely in his translation of Homer ; 
but Cowper had no assistant in that way. All the Throckmorton family, Lady 
Hesketh, Mrs. Johnson, and many others, helped him as transcribers, and only 
as such. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 259 

tion. The regret is at least as much bestowed in vain, as 
was that labour, for there is no well-founded reason to sup- 
pose, from the momentary jeopardy in which he lived, of 
being plunged into sudden, irretrievable despondence, that 
if he had been otherwise employed, he could have main- 
tained even that small share of health and cheerfulness 
which he enjoyed." 

It was not to be expected that a mind like Cowper's 
could remain for any lengthened period unemployed. Ac- 
customed as he had long been to intense application, when 
he had completed his great work, he immediately felt the 
want of some other engagement To a mind less active than 
his, replying to his correspondents, which had now become 
most extensive, would have been employment amply suffi- 
cient — especially as he was considerably in arrears with 
them, owing to his previous labours. This, however, was 
not enough for Cowper. He wanted something more 
worthy of his powers; something that required more 
vigour of thought, and demanded more severe application. 
Several of his friends again urged him for original com- 
position, and in all probability they would have been suc- 
sessful, had he not, about this time, received a letter from his 
publisher, of whose judgment and integrity he had always 
entertained a high opinion, recommending him to prepare 
materials for a splendid edition of Milton. To this pro- 
posal Cowper immediately assented. He had always ex- 
pressed himself delighted with Milton's poetry, and on one 
occasion, in a letter to his friend Mr. Unwin, had thus ven- 
tured to defend his character from the severe censures cast 
upon him by Johnson, in his " Lives of the Poets :" — " I 
have been well entertained with Johnson's biography, for 
which I thank you ; with one exception, and that a swinging 
one, I think he has acquitted himself with his usual good 
sense and sufficiency. His treatment of Milton is unmerci- 

s 2 



260 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

ful to the last degree. He has belaboured that great poet's 
character with the most industrious cruelty. As a man, he 
has hardly left him the shadow of one good quality. 
Churlishness in his private life, and a rancorous hatred of 
every thing royal in his public, are the two colours with 
which he has smeared all the canvas. If he had any virtues, 
they are not to be found in the Doctor's picture of him, 
and it is well for Milton, that some sourness in his temper 
is the only vice, with which his memory has been charged ; 
it is evident enough, that if his biographer could have dis- 
covered more, he would not have spared him. As a poet 
he has treated him with severity enough, and has plucked 
one or two of the most beautiful feathers out of his muse's 
wing, and trampled them under his great foot. He has 
passed sentence of condemnation upon Lycidas, and has 
taken occasion from that charming poem, to expose to 
ridicule (what is indeed ridiculous enough) the childish 
prattlings of pastoral compositions, as if Lycidas was the 
prototype and pattern of them all. The liveliness of the 
description, the sweetness of the numbers, the classical 
spirit of antiquity that prevails in it, go for nothing. I 
am convinced by the way, that he has no ear for poetical 
numbers, or that it was stopped by prej udice against the 
harmony of Milton's. Was there ever any thing so de- 
lightful as the music of the Paradise Lost ? It is like that 
of a fine organ ; has the fullest and the deepest tones of 
majesty, with all the softness and elegance of the Dorian 
flute. Variety without end, and never equalled, unless 
perhaps by Virgil. Yet the Doctor has little or nothing 
to say upon this copious theme, but talks something about 
the unfitness of the English language for blank-verse, and 
how apt it is, in the mouth of some readers, to degenerate 
into declamation." 

Cowper had no sooner made up his mind on the subject 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 261 

of his new engagement, than he communicated it to his 
correspondents. To one he writes, " I am deep in a new 
literary engagement, being retained by my bookseller as 
editor of an intended most magnificent edition of Milton's 
Poetical Works. This will occupy me as much as Homer 
did, for a year or two to come ; and when I have finished 
it, I shall have run through all the degrees of my profes- 
sion, as author, translator, and editor. I know not that a 
fourth could be found ; but if a fourth can be found, I 
dare say I shall find it. I am now translating Milton's 
Latin poems. I give them, as opportunity offers, all the 
variety of measures that I can. Some I render in heroic 
rhymes, some in stanzas, some in seven, some in eight syl- 
lable measure, and some in blank verse. They will altoge- 
ther, I hope, make an agreeable miscellany for the English 
reader. They are certainly good in themselves, and cannot 
fail to please, but by the fault of their translator." 

One of his most esteemed correspondents, the Hev. Walter 
Bagot, attempted to dissuade him from entering upon his 
new engagement, and urged him to publish in a third vo- 
lume, what original pieces he had already composed, added 
to a translation of Milton's Latin and Italian poems. Had 
this plan been suggested to him earlier, he would, in all pro- 
bability, have pursued it, as he thus writes to his friend 
on the subject. " As to Milton, the die is cast. I am 
engaged, have bargained with Johnson, and cannot recede. 
I should otherwise have been glad to do as you advise, to 
make the translation of his Latin and Italian poems, part 
of another volume, for with such an addition, I have 
nearly as much verse in my budget, as would be required 
for the purpose." 

From some expressions in a letter to Rev. Mr. Hurdis, the 
author of The Village Curate, with whom Cowper had en- 
tered into a correspondence, a few months previous to this, 



262 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

and to whom he had written several most interesting let- 
ters ; it would appear as if he entered upon his new en- 
gagement, rather precipitately, and without due considera- 
tion. " I am much obliged to you for wishing that I were 
employed in some original work, rather than in translation. 
To tell the truth, I am of your mind ; and unless I could 
find another Homer, I shall promise (I believe) and vow, 
when I have done with Milton, never to translate again. 
But my veneration for our great countryman is equal to 
what I feel for the Grecian ; and consequently I am happy, 
and feel myself honourably employed, whatever I do for 
Milton. I am now translating his Epitaphium Damonis ; 
a pastoral, in my judgment, equal to any of Virgil's Buco- 
lics, but of which Dr. Johnson (so it pleased him) speaks, 
as I remember, contemptuously. But he who never saw 
any beauty in a rural scene, was not likely to have much 
taste for a pastoral. In pace quiescat /" 

Among other consequences resulting from his new un- 
dertaking, one of the most gratifying to himself was, its 
becoming the means of introducing him to an acquaintance 
with his esteemed friend, and future biographer, Mr. Hay- 
ley. This important event in Cowper's life, — so it after- 
wards proved, — is related with so much beauty and simpli- 
city by Mr. Hayley, in his life of Cowper, and reflects a 
lustre so bright on both the biographer and the poet, that 
we cannot do better than give it in his own words. Mr. 
Hayley thus relates the circumstance. " As it is to Milton 
that I am in a great measure indebted for what I must 
ever regard as a signal blessing, the friendship of Cowper, 
the reader will pardon me for dwelling a little on the cir- 
cumstances that produced it: circumstances which often 
lead me to repeat those sweet verses of my friend, on the 
casual origin of our valuable attachments." 

" Mysterious are His ways whose power 
Brings forth that unexpected hour, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 263 

When minds that never met before 
Shall meet, unite, and part no more : 
It is the allotment of the skies, 
The hand of the supremely wise, 
That guides and governs our affections, 
And plans and orders our connections." 

" These charming lines strike with peculiar force on my 
heart, when I recollect that it was an idle endeavour to 
make us enemies, which gave rise to our intimacy, and 
that I was providentially conducted to Weston at a season 
when my presence there afforded peculiar comfort to my 
affectionate friend, under the pressure of a very heavy do- 
mestic affliction which threatened to overwhelm his very 
tender spirits. The entreaty of many persons whom I 
wished to oblige, had engaged me to write a life of Milton, 
before I had the slightest suspicion that my work could 
interfere with the projects of any man ; but I was soon 
surprised and concerned in hearing that I was represented 
in a newspaper as an antagonist of Cowper. I imme- 
diately wrote to him on the subject, and our correspondence 
soon endeared us to each other in no common degree. The 
series of his letters to me I value, not only as memorials 
of a most dear and honourable friendship, but as exquisite 
examples of epistolary excellence." 

The above interesting extract will have informed the 
reader that Mr. Hayley paid Cowper a visit at Weston ; 
this visit, however, so gratifying to both parties, did not 
take place till the beginning of May, 1792. In the De- 
cember previous, Cowper met with one of the heaviest do- 
mestic calamities he had ever experienced. Mrs. Unwin, 
his affectionate companion, who had watched over him, 
with so much tenderness and anxiety, for so many years, 
was suddenly attacked with strong symptoms of paralysis. 
In a letter to his friend, Mr. Rose, dated 21st December, 



264 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

1791, Cowper thus relates this painful event: — "On Sa- 
turday last, while I was at my desk, near the window, and 
Mrs. Unwin at the fire-side opposite to it, I heard her sud- 
denly exclaim, 'Oh! Mr. Cowper, don't let me fall!' I 
turned, and saw her actually falling, and started to her 
side just in time to prevent her. She was seized with a 
violent giddiness, which lasted, though with some abate- 
ment, the whole day, and was attended with some other 
very, very alarming symptoms. At present, however, she 
is relieved from the vertigo, and seems, in all respects, 
better. She has been my faithful and affectionate nurse 
for many years, and consequently has a claim on all my 
attentions. She has them, and will have them, as long as 
she wants them, which will probably be, at the least, a 
considerable time to come. I feel the shock, as you may 
suppose, in every nerve. God grant that there may be no 
repetition of it. Another such a stroke upon her would, I 
think, overset me completely ; but, at present, I hold up 
bravely." 

Notwithstanding the interruption of Cowper's studies, 
occasioned by Mrs. Un win's indisposition, and by the ex- 
treme slowness of her recovery, he had now become so 
much accustomed to regular employment, and had derived 
from it so many advantages, that he could not possibly 
remain inactive. In the month of February we find him 
thus employed. " Milton, at present, engrosses me alto- 
gether. His Latin pieces I have translated, and have 
begun with the Italian. These are few, and will not detain 
me long. I shall proceed immediately to deliberate upon, 
and to settle the plan of my commentary, which I have 
hitherto had but little time to consider. I look forward to 
it, for this reason, with some anxiety. I trust, at least, 
that this anxiety will cease, when I have once satisfied 
myself about the best manner of conducting it. But, after 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 265 

all, I seem to fear more the labour to which it calls me, 
than any great difficulty with which it likely to be at- 
tended. To the labours of versifying I have no objection, 
but to the labours of criticism I am new, and apprehend 
that I shall find them wearisome. Should that be the 
case I shall be dull, but must be contented to share the 
censure of being so, with almost all the commentators that 
have ever existed. I will, however, have no horrida bella, 
if I can help it. It is, at least, my present purpose to 
avoid them if possible ; for which reason, I shall confine 
myself merely to the business of an annotator, which is my 
proper province, and shall sift out of Warton's notes every 
tittle that relates to the private character, political or reli- 
gious principles of my author. These are properly sub- 
jects for a biographer's handling, but by no means, as it 
seems to me, for a commentator's." 

In reply to a pressing letter from his friend, Mr. Newton, 
for original composition, written about this time, Cowper 
thus expresses himself: — " Your demand for more original 
composition from me will, if I live, and it please God to 
afford me health, in all probability, be sooner or later gra- 
tified. In the meantime you need not, and if you turn 
the matter over in your thoughts a little, you will perceive 
that you need not, think me unworthily employed in pre- 
paring a new edition of Milton. His two principal poems 
are of a kind that call for an editor who believes the 
gospel, and is well grounded in evangelical doctrine. Such 
an editor they have never had, though only such an one 
can be qualified for the office." 

The peculiarity of Cowper's religious feelings still con- 
tinued to exist ; and it seemed impossible for him to divest 
himself entirely of those gloomy apprehensions, of his own 
personal interest in the blessings of the gospel, which had 
harassed and distressed him for so many years. On every 



266 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

other subject he could write, and converse, with ease to 
himself, [and with pleasure to others ; but the morbid ten- 
dency of his mind to despondency, tinged all his remarks 
with midnight gloom whenever he adverted to this. An 
instance of this occurred in one of his letters to Mr. Newton 
about this time. After describing, in his own playful 
manner, some changes that had recently taken place in the 
circle of his immediate acquaintance, he thus closes his 
letter, which, notwithstanding the excellence of the re- 
marks, evinces the existence of considerable depression. 
" Such is this variable scene, so variable, that, had the re- 
flections I sometimes make upon it a permanent influence, 
I should tremble at the thought of a new connexion ; and 
to be out of the reach of its mutability, lead almost the life 
of a hermit. It is well with those, who, like you, have 
God for their companion ; death cannot deprive them of 
him, and he changes not the place of his abode. Other 
changes, therefore, to them are all supportable ; and what 
you say of your own experience is the strongest possible 
proof of it. Had you lived without God, you could not 
have endured the loss you mention. May he preserve me 
from a similar one ; at least, till he shall be pleased to draw 
me to himself again. Then, if ever that day come, it will 
make me equal to my burden ; at present, I can bear no- 
thing well. I, however, generally manage to pass my time 
comfortably, as much so, at least, as Mrs. Unwin's frequent 
indisposition, and my no less frequent troubles of mind, 
will permit. When I am much distressed, any company 
but her's distresses me more, and makes me doubly sen- 
sible of my sufferings, though sometimes, I confess, it falls 
out otherwise; and by the help of more general conversa- 
tion, I recover that elasticity of mind which is able to resist 
the pressure. On the whole, I believe, I am situated ex- 
actly as I should wish to be, were my situation determined 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 267 

by my own election ; and am denied no comfort that is com- 
patible with the total absence of the chief of all. I rejoiced, 
and had great reason to do so, in your coming to Weston, 
for I think the Lord came with you. Not, indeed, to abide 
with me, nor to restore me to that intercourse which I had 
with him, and which I enjoyed twenty years ago, but to 
awaken in me, however, more spiritual feeling than I have 
experienced, except in two instances, all that time. The 
comforts that I had received under your ministry in better 
days, all rushed upon my recollection ; and, during two or 
three transient moments, seemed to be in a degree renewed. 
You will tell me that, transient as they were, they were yet 
evidences of a love that is not so; and I am desirous to 
believe it." 

We have already informed our readers, that Cowper's 
engagement as the editor of Milton, became the means of 
introducing him to Mr. Hayley. He received the first 
letter from that gentleman in March, 1792. An incident 
occurred respecting this letter which ought not to go un- 
recorded ; as it might have proved fatal to that friendship, 
which became to both the poets, a source of the purest 
enjoyment. Neither of these talented individuals, had, at 
that time, any knowledge of each other. Mr. Hayley had 
read Cowper's productions with no ordinary emotions of 
delight, and had consequently conceived the highest re- 
spect for their unknown author; and nothing could have 
occasioned him greater surprise, as well as uneasiness, than 
to be represented as the opponent of one whom he so 
highly respected. No sooner was he apprised of it than 
he wrote to Cowper, generously offering him any materials 
that he had collected, with as much assistance as it was in 
his power to afford, and being unacquainted with his ad- 
dress, directed his letter to the care of Johnson, his 
publisher. Either through the carelessness or inadvertence 



268 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

of Johnson, this letter remained in his hands for a con- 
siderable time, and was not delivered to Cowper till six 
weeks after it had been written. Immediately on receiving 
it Cowper wrote to Mr. Hayley, explaining the cause of his 
long delayed reply, and from that time, an interchange of 
many most interesting letters took place, which subse- 
quently led to a friendship the most cordial and ardent, 
which it was only in the power of death to dissolve. In a 
letter to Lady Hesketh, Cowper thus adverts to this circum- 
stance : — " Mr. Hayley's friendly and complimentary letter, 
from some unknown cause, at least to me, slept six weeks 
in Johnson's custody. It was necessary I should answer it 
without delay, accordingly I answered it the very evening 
on which I received it, giving him to understand, among 
other things, how much vexation the bookseller's folly had 
cost me, who had detained it so long, especially on account 
of the distress that I knew it must have occasioned to him 
also. From his reply, which the return of the post brought 
me, I learn that in the long interval of my non-correspon- 
dence he had suffered anxiety and mortification enough; so 
much so that I dare say he made twenty vows never to hazard 
again either letter or compliment to an unknown author. 
What, indeed, could he imagine less, than that I meant 
by such obstinate silence to tell him that I valued neither 
him nor his praises, nor his proffered friendship ; in short, 
that I considered him as a rival, and, therefore, like a true 
author, hated and despised him. He is now, however, 
convinced that I love him, as indeed I do, and I account 
him the chief acquisition that my verse has ever procured 
me. Brute should I be if I did not, for he promises me 
every assistance in his power." 

To Mr. Hayley, at the commencement of Cowper's corres- 
pondence with him, and after the above unpleasant occur- 
rence had been satisfactorily accounted for, and amicably 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 269 

settled, he thus expresses his anxiety that the friendship 
thus formed might be lasting : — " God grant that this 
friendship of ours maybe a comfort to us all the rest of our 
days, in a world where true friendships are rarities, and 
especially, where suddenly formed, they are apt soon to 
terminate. But, as I said before, I feel a disposition of 
heart towards you that I never felt for one whom I had 
never seen ; and that shall prove itself, I trust, in the 
event, a propitious omen. It gives me the sincerest plea- 
sure that I hope to see you at Weston ; for as to any 
migrations of mine, they must, I fear, notwithstanding the 
joy I should feel in being a guest of yours, be still con- 
sidered in the light of impossibilities. Come, then, my 
friend, and be as welcome, as the country people say here, 
as the flowers in May. I am happy, I say, in the expecta- 
tion, but the fear or rather the consciousness, that I shall 
not answer on a nearer view, makes it a trembling kind of 
happiness, and invests it with many doubts. Bring with 
you any books that you think may be useful to my com- 
mentatorship, for with you for an interpreter, I shall be 
afraid of none of them. And in truth if you think you 
shall want them, you must bring books for your own use 
also, for they are an article with which I am heinously un- 
provided; being much in the condition of the man whose 
library Pope describes, as — 

" No mighty store ! 

His own works neatly bound, and little more." 

Mr. Hayley's projected visit, anticipated so fondly, both 
by himself and by Cowper, took place in May 1792. — 
The interview between these talented individuals proved 
reciprocally delightful. Though Cowper was now in his 
sixty-first year, he felt none of the infirmities of advanced 
life, but was as active and vigorous, both in mind and body, 



270 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

as his best friends could wish him. Mrs. Unwin had 
nearly recovered from her late severe attack, and as her 
health was every day progressively improving, there seemed 
every probability of their enjoying a long continuance of 
domestic comfort. Mr. Hayley thus describes the manner 
in which he was received, and his sensations on the occa- 
sion. — " Their reception of me was kindness itself; I was 
enchanted to find that the manners and conversation of 
Cowper resembled his poetry, charming by unaffected 
elegance, and the graces of a benevolent spirit. I looked 
with affectionate veneration and pleasure on the lady, who, 
having devoted her life and fortune to the service of this 
tender and sublime genius, in watching over him with 
maternal vigilance, through so many years of the darkest 
calamity, appeared to be now enjoying a reward justly due 
to the noblest exertions of friendship, in contemplating the 
health, and the renown of the poet, whom she had the 
happiness to preserve. It seemed hardly possible to survey 
human nature in a more touching, and a more satisfactory 
point of view. Their tender attention to each other, their 
simple, devout gratitude for the mercies which they had 
experienced together, and their constant but unaffected 
propensity to impress on the mind and heart of a new 
friend, the deep sense which they incessantly felt, of their 
mutual obligations to each other ; afforded me very singu- 
lar gratification." 

This scene of exquisite enjoyment to all parties, as is 
frequently the case in a world like ours, was suddenly 
exchanged for one of the deepest melancholy and distress. 
Mr. Hayley has related the painful event with so much 
tenderness and simplicity, that we cannot do better than 
present it to our readers in his own words. — " After pass- 
ing our mornings in social study, we usually walked out 
together at noon; in returning from one of our rambles 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 271 

round the pleasant village of Weston, we were met by Mr. 
Greethead, an accomplished minister of the gospel, who 
resides at Newport Pagnel, and whom Cowper described to 
me in terms of cordial esteem. He came forth to meet us, 
as we drew near the house, and it was soon visible from his 
countenance and manner, that he had ill news to impart. 
After the most tender preparation that humanity could 
devise, he informed Cowper, that Mrs. Unwin was under 
the immediate pressure of a paralytic attack. My agitated 
friend, rushed to the sight of the sufferer; he returned to 
me in a state that alarmed me in the highest degree for his 
faculties : his first speech was wild in the extreme ; my 
answer would appear little less so, but it was addressed to 
the predominant fancy of my unhappy friend, and with 
the blessing of heaven, it produced an instantaneous calm 
in his troubled mind. From that moment he rested on my 
friendship with such mild and cheerful confidence, that his 
affectionate spirit regarded me as sent providentially to 
support him in a season of the severest affliction." 

The best means to promote the recovery of Mrs. Unwin, 
that could have been used under similar circumstances, 
were resorted to. Happily, they proved to a considerable 
degree successful, and she gradually recovered both her 
strength and the use of her faculties. The effect of this 
attack, however, upon Cowper's tender mind, was in the 
highest degree painful. This will not perhaps be surpris- 
ing, when it is recollected how sincerely he was attached 
to his afflicted inmate, and how deeply he interested him- 
self in every thing that related to her welfare. The follow- 
ing beautiful lines will convey to the reader some idea of 
the exalted opinion he had formed of her character." 



" Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, 
Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew, 



272 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 

And undebased by praise of meaner things ! 

That ere through age or woe I shed my wings, 

I may record thy worth, with honour due, 

In verse as musical as thou art true — 

Verse that immortalizes whom it sings ! 

But thou hast little need : there is a book, 

By seraphs writ, with beams of heavenly light, 

On which the eyes of God not rarely look ! 

A chronicle of actions just and bright ! 

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, 

And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine." 

The following extracts from Cowper's correspondence, 
immediately after this painful event, describe satisfactorily 
the state of his mind : — "I wish with all my heart, 
my dearest cousin, that I had not ill news for the sub- 
ject of this letter : my friend, my Mary, has again 
been attacked by the same disorder that threatened me 
last year with the loss of her, of which you were your- 
self a witness. The present attack has been much the 
severest. Her speech has been almost unintelligible from 
the moment that she was struck : it is with difficulty she 
can open her eyes ; and she cannot keep them open, the 
muscles necessary for that purpose being contracted ; and 
as to self-moving powers from place to place, and the right 
use of her hand and arm, she has entirely lost them. I 
hope, however, she is beginning to recover : her amendment 
is indeed but very slow, as must be expected at her time 
of life. I am as well myself, and indeed better than you 
have ever known me in such trouble. It has happened 
well for me that, of all men living, the man best qualified 
to assist and comfort me, is here ; though, till within these 
few days, I never saw him, and a few weeks since had no 
expectation that I ever should. You have already guessed 
that I mean Hayley — Hayley, who loves me as if he had 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 273 

known me from my cradle. When he returns to town, as 
he must, alas ! he will pay his respects to you. He has, I 
assure you, been all in all to us, on this very afflictive 
occasion. Love him, I charge you, clearly, for my sake. 
Where could I have found a man, except himself, so ne- 
cessary to me, in so short a time, that I absolutely know 
not how to live without him ? " 

Mr. Hayley left Weston early in June, at which time 
many pleasing symptoms of Mrs. Unwin's ultimate re- 
covery began to appear. Cowper's letters to his friend 
after his departure, which were written almost daily, afford 
ample proofs of the warmth of his affection for him, and 
of the deep interest he took in promoting Mrs. Unwin's 
recovery. He thus commences his first letter to Mr. 
Hayley: — " All's well ! which words I place as con- 
spicuously as possible, and prefix them to my letter, to 
save you the pain, my friend and brother, of a moment's 
anxious speculation. Poor Mary proceeds in her amend- 
ment, and improves, I think, even at a swifter rate than 
when you left her. The stronger she grows, the faster she 
gathers strength, which is perhaps the natural course of 
recovery. Yesterday was a noble day with her : speech, 
almost perfect — eyes, open almost the whole day, without 
any effort to keep them so — and her step, wonderfully 
improved ! Can I ever honour you enough for your zeal to 
serve me ? Truly I think not. 1 am, however, so sensible 
of the love I owe you on this account, that I every day 
regret the acuteness of your feelings for me, convinced that 
they expose you to much trouble, mortification, and dis- 
appointment. I have, in short, a poor opinion of my 
destiny, as I told you when you were here ; and though I 
believe, if any man living can do me good, you will, I 
cannot yet persuade myself that even you will be successful 
in attempting it. But it is no matter : you arc yourself a 

T 



274 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEU. 

good which I can never value enough; and, whether rich 
or poor in other respects, I shall always account myself 
better provided for than I deserve, with such a friend as 
you, that I can call my own. Let it please God to con- 
tinue to me my William and Mary, and I shall be more 
reasonable than to grumble. I rose this morning, wrapt 
round with a cloud of melancholy, and with a heart full of 
fears ; but if I see my Mary's amendment a little advanced, 
I shall be better." 

" Of what materials can you suppose me made, if, after 
all the rapid proofs you have given me of your friendship, 
I do not love you with all my heart, and regret your ab- 
sence continually. But you must permit me to be me- 
lancholy now and then ; or, if you will not, I must be so 
without your permission • for that sable thread is so inter- 
woven with the very thread of my existence as to be in- 
separable from it, at least while I exist in the body. Be 
content, therefore : let me sigh and groan, but always be 
sure that I love you. You will be well assured that I 
should not have indulged myself in this rhapsody about 
myself and my melancholy, had my present state of mind 
been of that complexion, or had not our poor Mary seemed 
still to advance in her recovery. It is a great blessing to 
us both, that, feeble as she is, she has a most invincible 
courage, and a trust in God's goodness that nothing shakes. 
She is certainly, in some degree, better than she was yester- 
day ; but how to measure the degree I know not, except 
by saying — that it is just perceptible." • 

In a letter dated 11th June, 1792, Cowper thus dis- 
closes his state of mind to Lady Hesketh. " My dearest 
cousin, thou art ever in my thoughts, whether I am writing 
to thee or not, and my correspondence seems to grow upon 
me at such a rate, that I am not able to address thee so 
often as I would. In fact, I live only to write letters. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 275 

Hayley is, as you see, added to the number of my corres- 
pondents, and to him I write almost as duly as I rise in 
the morning. Since I wrote last, Mrs. Unwin has been 
continually improving in strength, but at so gradual a rate, 
that I can only mark it by saying that she moves every 
day with less support than the former. On the whole, I 
believe she goes on as well as can be expected, though not 
quite so well as to satisfy me." 

" During the last two months I seem to myself to 
have been in a dream. It has been a most eventful period, 
and fruitful to an uncommon degree, both in good and in 
evil. I have been very ill, and suffered excruciating pain. 
I recovered, and became quite well again. I received 
within my doors a man, but lately, an entire stranger, and 
who now. loves me as his brother, and forgets himself to 
serve me. Mrs. Unwin has been seized with an illness, 
that for many days threatened to deprive me of her, and to 
cast a gloom, an impenetrable one, on all my future pros- 
pects. She is now granted to me again. A few days 
since I should have thought the moon might have des- 
cended into my purse as likely as any emolument, and now 
it seems not impossible. All this has come to pass with 
such rapidity as events move with in romance indeed, but 
not often in real life. Events of all sorts creep or fly ex- 
actly as God pleases.' 7 

While Mr. Hayley was at Weston, he had persuaded 
Cowper and Mrs. Unwin to promise him a visit at Eartham, 
some time in the summer. Believing it would greatly im- 
prove Mrs. Unwin's health, and be an agreeable relaxation 
to Cowper, after the anxiety of mind he had felt respecting 
his esteemed invalid. Mr. Hayley wrote several pressing 
invitations to induce them to come as early as possible. 
The following extracts will shew the state of Cowper's 
mind respecting it. To Mr. Bull he writes, " We are on 

t2 



276 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

the eve of a journey, and a long one. On this very day 
se'nnight we set out for Eartham, the seat of my brother 
bard, Mr. Hayley, on the other side of London, nobody 
knows where, a hundred and twenty miles off. Pray for 
us, my friend, that we may have a safe going and return. 
It is a tremendous exploit, and I feel a thousand anxieties 
when I think of it. But a promise made to him when he 
was here, that we would go if we could, and a sort of per- 
suasion that we can if we will, oblige us to it. The jour- 
ney and the change of air, together with the novelty to us 
of the scene to which we are going, may, I hope, be useful 
to us both ; especially to Mrs. Unwin, who has most need 
of restoratives." 

To Mr. Newton he thus discloses his feelings on the 
subject. " You may imagine that we, who have been re- 
sident in one spot for so many years, do not engage in 
such an enterprise without some anxiety. Persons accus- 
tomed to travel would make themselves merry with mine; 
it seems so disproportion ed to the occasion. Once I have 
been on the point of determining not to go, and even since 
we fixed the day, my troubles have been almost insup- 
portable. But it has been made a matter of much prayer, 
and at last it has pleased God to satisfy me, in some mea- 
sure, that his will corresponds with our purpose, and that 
he will afford us his protection. You, I know, will not be 
unmindful of us during our absence from home ; but will 
obtain for us, if your prayers can do it, all that we would 
ask for ourselves — the presence and favour of God, a salu- 
tary effect of our journey, and a safe return." 

Anxious to enjoy the pleasure of Cowper's company at 
Eartham, Mr. Hayley, in his letters to the poet, urged him, 
by no means to defer his visit till late in the summer. 
From Cowper's replies we select the following interesting 
extracts. " The weather is sadly against my Mary's re- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 277 

covery ; it deprives her of many a good turn in the orchard , 
and fifty times have I wished this very day, that Dr. Dar- 
win's scheme of giving rudders and sails to the icelands, 
that spoil all our summers, were actually put into practice. 
So should we have gentle airs instead of churlish blasts, 
and those everlasting sources of bad weather, being once 
navigated into the southern hemisphere, my Mary would 
recover as fast again. We are both of your mind respect- 
ing the journey to Eartham, and think that July, if by 
that time she have strength for the journey, will be better 
than August. This, however, must be left to the Giver of 
all Good. If our visit to you be according to his will, he 
will smooth our way before us, and appoint the time of it ; 
and I thus speak not because I wish to seem a saint in 
your eyes, but because my poor Mary actually is one, and 
would not set her foot over the threshold, unless she had, 
or thought she had, God's free permission. With that she 
would go through floods and fire, though without it she 
would be afraid of every thing — afraid even to visit you, 
dearly as she loves, and much as she longs to see you." 

In another letter to Mr. Hayley, he writes, " The pro- 
gress of the old nurse in Terence is very much like the 
progress of my poor patient in the road of recovery. I 
cannot indeed say that she moves but advances not, for 
advances are certainly made, but the progress of a week is 
hardly perceptible. I know not, therefore, at present, 
what to say about this long postponed journey ; the utmost 
that it is safe for me to say at this moment is this, — you 
know that you are dear to us both ; true it is that you are 
so, and equally true, that the very instant we feel our- 
selves at liberty, we will fly to Eartham. You wish me to 
settle the time, and I wish with all my heart so to do ; 
living in hopes, meanwhile, that I shall be able to do it 
soon. But some little time must necessarily intervene; 



278 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Our Mary must be able to walk alone, to cut her own food, 
and to feed herself, and to wear her own shoes, for at pre- 
sent she wears mine. All these things considered, my 
friend and brother, you will see the expediency of waiting 
a little before we set off to Eartham. We mean, indeed, 
before that day arrives, to make a trial of her strength ; 
how far she may be able to bear the motion of a carriage, 
a motion that she has not felt these seven years. I grieve 
that we are thus circumstanced, and that we cannot gra- 
tify ourselves in a delightful and innocent project, without 
all these precautions ; but when we have leaf-gold to 
handle, we must do it tenderly." 

The day was at length fixed for this long intended 
journey ; and the following letter to Mr. Hayley, written a 
day or two previously, describes Cowper's feelings respect- 
ing it : — 

" Through floods and flames to your retreat 
I win my desp'rate way, 
And when we meet, if e'er we meet, 
Will echo your huzza ! " 

" You will wonder at the word desperate in the second line, 
and at the if in the third ; but could you have any concep- 
tion of the fears I have had to bustle with, of the dejection of 
spirits that I have suffered concerning this journey, you would 
wonder much that I still courageously persevere in my reso- 
lution to undertake it. Fortunately for my intention, it hap- 
pens that as the day approaches my terrors abate ; for had 
they continued to be what they were a week ago, I must, 
after all, have disappointed you ; and was actually once, on 
the verge of doing it. I have told you something of my 
nocturnal experiences, and assure you now, that they were 
hardly ever more terrific than on this occasion. Prayer 
has, however, opened my passage at last, and obtained for 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 279 

me a degree of confidence, that I trust will prove a com- 
fortable viaticum to me all the way. The terrors that I 
have spoken of would appear ridiculous to most, but to you 
they will not, for you are a reasonable creature, and know 
well that to whatever cause it be owing (whether to con- 
stitution or to God's express appointment) I am hunted by 
spiritual hounds in the night season. I cannot help it. 
You will pity me, and wish it were otherwise ; and though 
you may think there is much of the imaginary in it, will not 
deem it, for that reason, an evil less to be lamented. So 
much for fears and distresses. Soon I hope they will all 
have a joyful termination, and I and my Mary be skipping 
with delight at Eartham." 

The protracted indisposition of Mrs. Unwin, and the 
preparation which Cowper thought it necessary to make for 
his journey, had entirely diverted his mind from his liter- 
ary undertaking. To Mr. Hayley, on this point, he thus 
writes : — " I know not how you proceed in your Life of 
Milton, but I suppse not very rapidly, for while you were 
here, and since you left us, you have had no other theme but 
me. As for myself, except my letters and the nuptial 
song I sent you in my last, I have literally done nothing, 
since I saw you. Nothing, I mean, in the writing way, 
though a great deal in another ; that is to say, in attending 
my poor Mary, and endeavouring to nurse her up for a 
journey to Eartham. In this I have hitherto succeeded 
tolerably well, and I had rather carry this point completely 
than be the most famous editor of Milton the world has 
ever seen, or shall see. As to this affair, I know not what 
will become of it. I wrote to Johnson a week since to tell 
him, that the interruption of Mrs. Unwin's illness still con- 
tinuing, and being likely to continue, I knew not when I 
should be able to proceed. The translations I said were 
finished, except the revisal of a part. I hope, or rather 



280 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



wish, that at Eartham I may recover that habit of study 
which, inveterate as it once seemed, I now seem to have 
lost — lost to such a degree, that it is even painful for me to 
think of what it will cost me to acquire it again." 

About this time, at the request of a much esteemed re- 
lative, Cowper sat to Abbot, the painter, for his portrait ; 
and the following playful manner in which he adverts to 
the circumstance, exhibits the peculiarity of his case, and 
shews, that though he was almost invariably suffering 
under the influence of deep depression, he frequently wrote 
to his correspondents, in a strain the most sprightly and 
cheerful: — " How do you imagine I have been occupied 
these last ten days ? In sitting, not on cockatrice eggs, 
nor yet to gratify a mere idle humour, nor because I was 
too sick to move, but because my cousin Johnson has an 
aunt who has a longing desire of my picture, and because 
he would, therefore, bring a painter from London to draw 
it. For this purpose I have been sitting, as I say, these 
ten days ; and am heartily glad that my sitting time is over. 
The likeness is so strong, that when my friends enter the 
room where the picture is, they start, astonished to see me 
where they know I am not." 



" Abbot is painting me so true, 
That (trust me) you would stare 
And hardly know, at the first view, 
If I were here, or there." 

Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton, instead 
of being here, to contemplate this prodigy of art, which, 
therefore, you can never see, for it goes to London next 
Monday, to be suspended awhile at Abbot's, and then pro- 
ceeds into Norfolk, where it will be suspended for ever." 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 281 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Journey to Eartham — Incidents of it — Safe arrival — Description of 
its beauties — Employment there — Reply to a letter from Mr. 
Hurdis, on the death of his sister — State of Cowper's mind at 
Eartham — His great attention to Mrs. Unwin — Return to Weston 
— Interview with General Cowper — Safe arrival at their beloved 
retreat — Violence of his depressive malady — Regrets the loss of 
his studious habit — Ineffectual efforts to obtain it — Warmth of his 
affection for Mr. Hayley — Dread of January — Prepares for a se- 
cond edition of Homer — Commences writing notes upon it — 
Labour it occasioned him — His close application — Continuance 
of his depression — Judicious consolatory advice he gives to his 
friends — Letter to Rev. J. Johnson on his taking orders — Pleasure 
it afforded hiin to find that his relative entered upon the work with 
suitable feelings — Reply to Mr. Hayley respecting a joint literary 
undertaking. 

Cowper and Mrs. Unwin set out for Eartham in the be- 
ginning of August, 1792. It pleased God to conduct 
them thither in safety ; and though considerably fatigued 
with their journey, they were much less so than they had 
anticipated. Cowper's letters to his friends after his 
arrival, describe his feelings on the occasion, in a manner 
the most pleasing : — " Here we are, at Eartham, in the 
most elegant mansion that I have ever inhabited, and sur- 
rounded by the most beautiful pleasure grounds that I have 
ever seen ; but which, dissipated as my powers of thought 
are at present, I will not undertake to describe. It shall 



282 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

suffice me to say that they occupy three sides of a hill, 
which in Buckinghamshire might well pass for a mountain, 
and from the summit of which is beheld a most magnifi- 
cent landscape, bounded by the sea, and in one part by 
the Isle of Wight, which may also be seen plainly from the 
window of the library, in which I am writing. It pleased 
God to carry us both through the journey with far less 
difficulty and inconvenience than I expected ; I began it 
indeed with a thousand fears, and when we arrived the 
first evening at Barnet, found myself oppressed in spirit 
to a degree that could hardly be exceeded. I saw Mrs. 
Unwin weary, as well she might be, and heard such noises, 
both within the house and without, that I concluded she 
would get no rest. But I was mercifully disappointed. 
She rested, though not well, yet sufficiently. Here we 
found our friend Rose, who had walked from his house 
in Chancery-lane, to meet us, and to greet us with his best 
wishes. At Kingston, where we dined, the second day, I 
found my old and much valued friend, General Cowper, 
whom I had not seen for thirty years, and but for this 
journey should never have seen again : when we arrived at 
Ripley, where we slept the second night, we were both 
in a better condition of body and of mind, than on the day 
preceding. Here we found a quiet inn, that housed, as it 
happened, that night, no company but ourselves ; we slept 
well and rose perfectly refreshed, and except some terrors 
that I felt at passing over the Sussex Hills at moonlight, 
met with little to complain of, till we arrived about ten 
o'clock, at Eartham. Here we are as happy as it is in the 
power of earthly good to make us. It is almost a paradise 
in which we dwell ; and our reception has been the kindest 
that it was possible for friendship and hospitality to con- 
trive." 

While at Eartham, Cowper and Mr. Hayley employed 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 283 

the morning hours that they could bestow upon books, in 
revising and correcting Cowper's translation of Milton's 
Latin and Italian Poems. In the afternoon they occasion- 
ally amused themselves by forming together a rapid metrical 
version of Andreini's Adamo. Cowper's tender solicitude 
for Mrs. Unwin, however, rendered it impossible for them 
to be very attentive to these studies. Adverting to the 
anxiety of Cowper respecting Mrs. Unwin, Mr. Hayley 
thus writes : — " I have myself no language sufficiently 
strong or sufficiently tender, to express my just admiration 
of that angelic, compassionate sensibility with which Cow- 
per watched over his aged invalid. With the most singu- 
lar and most exemplary tenderness of attention, he in- 
cessantly laboured to counteract every infirmity, bodily and 
mental, with which sickness and age had conspired to load 
the interesting; guardian of his afflicted life." 

Cowper had been at Eartham but a few days, when he 
received a letter from his friend, Mr. Hurdis, informing 
him of the loss he had sustained by the death of a beloved 
sister. His compassionate heart immediately prompted him 
to write the following reply : — '* Your kind, but very affect- 
ing letter, found me not at Weston, to which place it was 
directed, but in a bower of my friend Hayley's garden, at 
Eartham, where I was sitting with Mrs. Unwin. We both 
knew, the moment we saw it, from whom it came ; and 
observing a red seal, both comforted ourselves that all was 
well at Bur wash ; but we soon felt that we were called not 
to rejoice, but to mourn with you ; we do, indeed, sincerely 
mourn with you ; and, if it will afford you any consolation 
to know it, you may be assured that every eye here has 
testified what our hearts have suffered for you. Your loss 
is great, and your disposition, I perceive, such as exposes 
you to feel the whole weight of it. I will not add to your 
sorrow by a vain attempt to assuage it ; your own good 



284 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



sense, and the piety of your principles, will, of course, 
suggest to you the most powerful motives of acquiescence 
in the will of God. You will be sure to recollect, that the 
stroke, severe as it is, is not the stroke of an enemy, but of 
a Friend and a Father ; and will find, I trust, hereafter, 
that, like a Father, he has done you good by it. Thou- 
sands have been able to say, and myself as loud as any of 
them, it has been good for me that I have been afflicted ; 
but time is necessary to work us to this persuasion ; and in 
due time it will, no doubt, be yours." 

The following extracts from letters to Lady Hesketh, 
dated Eartham, describe his feelings while he remained 
there : — "I know not how it is, my dearest cousin, but in 
a new scene like this, surrounded by strange objects, I find 
my powers of thinking dissipated to a degree, that makes 
it difficult for me even to write a letter, and even a letter 
to you ; but such a letter as I can, I will, and I have the 
fairest chance to succeed this morning ; Hayley, Romney, 
and Hayley's son, being all gone to the sea for bathing. 
The sea, you must know, is nine miles off, so that, unless 
stupidity prevent, I shall have opportunity to write, not 
only to you, but to poor Hurdis also, who is broken-hearted 
for the loss of his favourite sister, lately dead. I am, 
without the least dissimulation, in good health ; my spi- 
rits are about as good as you have ever seen them; and if 
increase of appetite, and a double portion of sleep, be ad- 
vantageous, such are the benefits I have received from this 
migration. As to that gloominess of mind which I have 
felt these twenty years, it cleaves to me even here ; and 
could I be translated to paradise, unless I left my body 
behind me, would cleave to me even there also. It is my 
companion for life, and nothing will ever divorce us. 
Mrs. Un win is evidently the better for her jaunt, though 
by no means as she was before her last attack, still wanting 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 285 

help when she would rise from her seat, and a support in 
walking, but she is able to take more exercise than when 
at home, and move with rather a less tottering step. God 
knows what he designs for me ; but when I see those who 
are dearer to me than myself, distempered and enfeebled, 
and myself as strong as in the days of my youth, I tremble 
for the solitude in which a few years may place me" 

" This is, as I have already told you, a delightful place; 
more beautiful scenery I have never beheld, nor expect to 
behold; but the charms of it, uncommon as they are, have 
not, in the least, alienated my affections from Weston. 
The genius of that place suits me better ; it has an air of 
snug concealment, in w T hich a disposition like mine feels 
peculiarly gratified ; whereas here, I see from every window 
woods like forests, and hills like mountains, a wilderness 
in short, that rather increases my natural melancholy, and 
which, were it not for the agreeables I find within, would 
convince me that mere change of place can avail but little." 

On the 17th September, 1792, Cowper, and Mrs. (Jnwin, 
left Eartham, for their beloved retreat at Weston. Their 
parting interview with their friends at Eartham, who had 
heaped upon them every thing that the most affectionate 
kindness could invent, was deeply interesting to all parties, 
but particularly affecting to the sensitive mind of Cowper. 
According to a previous arrangement, the poet and Mrs. 
Unwin dined, and spent the day with General Cowper, at 
Kingston, who had come there on purpose to have the 
pleasure of Cowper's company, probably for the last time. 
A recollection of this so powerfully affected the poet's mind, 
that the pleasure of the interview was hardly greater than 
the pain he felt at parting with his venerable and beloved 
kinsman. The peculiar and burdened state of Cowper's 
mind respecting this visit, he thus describes : — " The strug- 
gles that I had with my own spirit, labouring, as I did, 



286 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER 



under the most dreadful dejection, are never to be told. I 
would have given the world to have been excused. I went, 
however, and carried my point against myself, with a heart 
riven asunder. I have reason for all this anxiety, which I 
cannot relate now ; the visit, however, passed off well, and 
I returned with a lighter heart than I had known since my 
departure from Eartham, and we both enjoyed a good 
night's rest afterwards." 

The good providence of God conducted these interest- 
ing travellers in safety to their home, where they arrived 
in the evening of the second day after they set out from 
Eartham. The unusual excitement occasioned by so long 
a journey, and by such a profusion of interesting objects, 
would, in ordinary cases, and in minds of almost any form, 
who had been so long confined to one spot, be very likely 
to be succeeded by considerable depression. Such was, 
however, much more likely to be the case on a mind like 
Cowper's. Accordingly we find, that when he arrived at 
Weston, he was, for a considerable time, subject to an un- 
usual degree of depression. The following extracts from 
his letters to his friend Hayley, describe the state of his 
mind, and shew how much he was then under the influ- 
ence of his depressive malady : — "Chaos, himself, even 
the chaos of Milton, is not surrounded with more con- 
fusion, nor has a mind more completely in a hubbub, than 
I experience at the present moment. A bad night, suc- 
ceeded by an east wind, and a sky all in sables, have such 
an effect on my spirits, that if I did not consult my own 
comfort more than yours, I should not write to-day, for 
I shall not entertain you much : yet your letter, though 
containing no very pleasant tidings, has afforded me some 
relief. It tells me, indeed, that you have been dispirited 
yourself; all this grieves me, but then there is warmth 
of heart, and a kindness in it, that do me good. I will 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 287 

endeavour not to repay you in notes of sorrow and dis- 
pondence, though all my sprightly chords seem broken. 
In truth, one day excepted, I have not seen the day 
when I have been cheerful since I left you. My spirits, 
I think, are almost constantly lower than they were ; the 
approach of winter is perhaps the cause, and if it be, 
I have nothing better to expect for a long time to come. 
I began a long letter to you yesterday, and proceeded 
through two sides of the sheet, but so much of my ner- 
vous fever found its way into it, that, looking over it 
this morning, I determined not to send it. Your wishes 
to disperse my melancholy would, I am sure, prevail, did 
that event depend on the warmth and sincerity with which 
you frame them ; but it has baffled both wishes and prayers, 
and those the most fervent that could be made, so many 
years, that the case seems hopeless." 

These frequent, and, indeed, almost continual attacks of 
depression, combined with the attention that Cowper paid 
to promote the comfort, and facilitate the recovery of Mrs. 
Unwin, prevented him entirely from persevering in his li- 
terary undertaking. In his letters he makes this a subject 
of particular regret. The benefits he had derived from his 
regular habits of study during his translation of Homer, 
made him anxious to be again regularly employed. To 
his friend Mr. Rose he thus describes the state of his mind 
in this respect ; — " I wish that I were as industrious, and as 
much occupied as you, though in a different way, but it is 
not so with me. Mrs. Unwin's great debility is of itself a 
hindrance, such as would effectually disable me. Till she 
can work and read, and fill up her time as usual, (all which 
is at present entirely out of her power) I may now and 
then find time to write a letter, but I shall write nothing 
more. I cannot sit, with my pen in my hand, and my 
books before me, while she is in effect, in solitude, silent, 



288 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

and looking at tlie fire. To this hindrance that other has 
been added, of which you are aware, a want of spirits, such 
as I have never known when I was not absolutely laid by, 
since I commenced an author. How long I shall be con- 
tinued in these uncomfortable circumstances is known 
only to Him, who, as he will, disposes of us all." 

" I may yet be able, perhaps, to prepare the first book of 
Paradise Lost for the press, before it will be wanted, and 
Johnson himself seems to think there will be no haste for the 
second. But poetry is my favourite employment, and my 
poetical operations are in the meantime suspended ; for 
while a work, to which I have bound myself, remains un- 
accomplished, I can do nothing else. Johnson's plan of 
prefixing my phiz to the edition of my poems is by no 
means a pleasant one to me, and so I told him in a letter I 
sent him from Eartham, in which I assured him that my 
objections to it would not be easily surmounted. But, if 
you judge that it may really have an effect in advancing 
the sale, T would not be so squeamish as to suffer the spirit 
of prudery to prevail on me to his disadvantage. Some- 
body told an author, I forget whom, that there was more 
vanity in refusing his picture than in granting it, on which 
he instantly complied. I do not perfectly feel all the force 
of the argument, but it shall content me that he did." 

To his kinsman he writes : — " The successor of the clerk 
defunct, for whom I used to write, arrived here this morn- 
ing, with a recommendatory letter from Joe Rye, and an 
humble petition of his own, entreating me to assist him, as 
I had assisted his predecessor. I have undertaken the 
service, although with no little reluctance, being involved 
in many arrears on other subjects, and very little depend- 
ence at present on my ability to write at all. I proceed 
exactly as when you were here — a letter now and then be- 
fore breakfast, and the rest of my time all holiday, if holi- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 289 

day it may be called, that is spent chiefly in moping and 
musing, and 'forecasting the fashion of uncertain euz'/s.' 
The fever on my spirits has harassed me much, and I have 
never had so good a night, nor so quiet a rising, since you 
went, as on this very morning. A relief that I account 
particularly seasonable and propitious, because I had, in 
my intentions, devoted this morning to you, and could not 
have fulfilled those intentions, had I been as spiritless as I 
generally am. I am glad that Johnson is in no haste for 
Milton, for I seem myself not likely to address myself 
presently to that concern with any prospect of success, yet 
something, now and then, like a secret whisper, assures and 
encourages me that it will yet be done/' 

To his friend Hayley he thus writes : — " Yesterday was 
a day of assignation with myself, a day of which I had 
said, some days before it came, when that day comes, I 
will, if possible, begin my dissertations. Accordingly, 
when it came I prepared to do so ; filled a letter case with 
fresh paper, furnished myself with a pretty good pen, and 
replenished my ink bottle ; but partly from one cause, and 
partly from another, chiefly, however, from distress and de- 
jection, after writing and obliterating about six lines, in 
the composition of which I spent near an hour, I was 
obliged to relinquish the attempt. An attempt so unsuc- 
cessful could have no other effect than to dishearten me, 
and it has had that effect to such a degree, that I know 
not when I shall find courage to make another. At present 
I shall certainly abstain from it, since I cannot well afford 
to expose myself to the danger of a fresh mortification.'* 

Adverting to this subject, he thus again writes to Mr. 
Hayley, 25 Nov. 1792. — u How shall I thank you enough 
for the interest you take in my future Miltonic labours, and 
the assistance you promise me in the performance of them? 
I will some time or other, if I live, and live a poet, acknow- 

u 



290 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

ledge your friendship in some of my best verses, the most 
suitable return one poet can make to another; in the mean 
time, I love you, and am sensible of all your kindness. — 
You wish me warm in my work, and I ardently wish the 
same, but when I shall be so, God only knows. My me- 
lancholy, which seemed a little alleviated for a few days, 
has gathered about me again, with as black a cloud as 
ever; the consequence is, absolute incapacity to begin. 
Yet I purpose, in a day or two, to make another attempt, 
to which, however, I shall address myself with fear and 
trembling, like a man, who having sprained his wrist, 
dreads to use it. I have not, indeed, like such a man, in- 
jured myself by any extraordinary exertion, but seem as 
much enfeebled as if I had. The consciousness that there 
is so much to do, and nothing done, is a burden I am not 
able to bear. Milton especially is my grievance, and I 
might almost as well be haunted by his ghost, as goaded 
with continual reproaches for neglecting him. I will, 
therefore, begin ; I will do my best, and if, after all, that 
best prove good for nothing, I will even send the notes, 
worthless as they are that I have already ; a measure very 
disagreeable to myself, and to which nothing but necessity 
shall compel me." 

To his friend, Mr. Newton, who had ventured to express 
his apprehensions lest his Miltonic labours should become 
too severe, he thus writes, 9 Dec. 1792. — u You need not 
be uneasy on the subject of Milton ; I shall not find that 
labour too heavy for me, if I have health and leisure. The 
season of the year is unfavourable to me respecting the for- 
mer, and Mrs. Unwin's present weakness allows me less of 
the latter than the occasion seems to call for. But the 
business is in no haste ; the artists employed to furnish the 
embellishments are not likely to be very expeditious ; and 
a small portion only of the work will be wanted from me at 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 291 

once, for the intention is, to deal it out to the public piece- 
meal. I am, therefore, under no great anxiety on that 
account. It is not, indeed, an employment that I should 
have chosen for myself, because poetry pleases and amuses 
me more, and would cost me less labour, properly so called. 
All this I felt before I engaged with Johnson, and did, in 
the first instance, actually decline the service, but he was 
urgent, and at last I suffered myself to be persuaded. The 
season of the year, as I have already said, is particularly 
adverse to me; yet not in itself, perhaps, more adverse than 
any other; but the approach of it always reminds me of the 
same season in the dreadful seventy- three, and the more 
dreadful eighty- six. I cannot help terrifying myself with 
doleful misgivings and apprehensions; nor is the enemy 
negligent to seize all the advantage that the occasion gives 
him. Thus, hearing much from him, and having little or 
no sensible support from God, I suffer inexpressible things 
till January is over. And even then, whether increasing 
years have made me more liable to it, or despair, the longer 
it lasts, grows naturally darker, I find myself more inclined 
to melancholy than I was a few years since. God only 
knows where this will end; but where it is likely to end, 
unless he interpose powerfully in my favour, all may know." 
On another occasion, to the same correspondent, he again 
writes: — " Oh for the day when your expectations of my 
final deliverance shall be verified ! At present it seems 
very remote, so distant, indeed, that hardly the faintest 
streak of it is visible in my horizon. The glimpse with 
which I was favoured about a month ago, has never been 
repeated, but the depression of my spirits has. The future 
appears as gloomy as ever, and I seem to myself to be 
scrambling always in the dark, among rocks and precipices, 
without a guide, but with an enemy ever at my heels, pre- 
pared to push me headlong. Thus I have spent twenty 

u2 



292 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



years, but thus I shall not spend twenty years more : long 
before that period arrives, the grand question concerning 
ray everlasting weal or woe will be decided." 

To a lady, with whom he occasionally corresponded, he 
thus discloses his feelings: — "I would give you consola- 
tion, madam, were I not disqualified for that delightful 
service by a great dearth of it in my own experience. I 
too often seek, but cannot find it. I know, however, there 
are seasons when, look which way we will, we see the same 
dismal gloom enveloping all objects. This it itself an af- 
fliction; and the worse, because it makes us think our- 
selves more unhappy than we are. I was struck by an ex- 
pression in your letter to Hayley, where you say that you 
i will endeavour to take an interest in green leaves again.' 
This seems the sound of my own voice reflected to me from 
a distance; I have so often had the same thought and de- 
sire. A day scarcely passes, at this season of the year, 
when I do not contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, 
and say, c perhaps I shall never see you clothed again.' 
Every year, as it passes, makes this expectation more rea- 
sonable; and the year with me cannot be very distant, 
when the event will verify it. Well, may God grant us a 
good hope of arriving, in due time, where the leaves never 
fall, and all will be right !" 

Notwithstanding his gloomy forebodings, Cowper es- 
caped any very severe attack of depression, in his dreaded 
month of the ensuing January, and as the spring advanced 
he became as busily engaged as he had ever been, partly in 
his Miltonic labours, but chiefly in preparing materials for 
a second edition of Homer. He had long been carefully 
revising the work, and had judiciously availed himself of 
the remarks of his friends, as well as of the criticisms of 
the reviewers. As soon, therefore, as it was determined to 
republish it, he made the best use of these materials, and 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 293 

in a few weeks prepared the work a second time for the 
press, in its new and much improved form. It was, how- 
ever, thought advisable, in the second edition, to publish 
notes, for the assistance of unlearned readers ; and the 
labour and research required to furnish these, occasioned 
Cowper much severe application, as the following extracts 
will shew: — 19 March, 1793. " I am so busy every morn- 
ing before breakfast, strutting and stalking in Homeric 
stilts, that you must account it an instance of marvellous 
grace and favour that I write even to you. Sometimes I 
am seriously almost crazed with the multiplicity of matters 
before me, and the little or no time that I have for them; 
and sometimes I repose myself after the fatigue of that 
distraction, on the pillow of despair; a pillow which has 
often served me in time of need, and is become, by frequent 
use, if not very comfortable, at least, convenient. So re- 
posed, I laugh at the world and say, — Yes, you may gape, 
and expect both Homer and Milton from me, but I'll be 
hanged if ever you get them. In Homer, however, you 
must know, I am advanced as far as the fifteenth book of 
the Iliad, leaving nothing behind that can reasonably of- 
fend the most fastidious; and I design him for a new dress 
as soon as possible, for a reason which any poet may guess 
if he will but thrust his hand into his pocket. My time, 
therefore, the little that I have,is now so entirely engrossed 
by Homer, that I have, at this time, a bundle of un- 
answered letters by me, and letters likely to be so. Thou 
knowest, I dare say, what it is to have a head weary with 
thinking ; mine is so fatigued by breakfast time, three days 
out of four, that I am utterly incapable of sitting down to 
my desk again for any purpose whatever. I rise at six every 
morning, and fag till near eleven, when I breakfast; the 
consequence is, that I am so exhausted as not to be able 
to write when the opportunity offers. You will say, 



294 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

breakfast before you work, and then your work will not 
fatigue you. I answer, perhaps I might, and your counsel 
would probably prove beneficial; but I cannot spare a 
moment for eating in the early part of the morning, having 
no other time for study ; all this time is constantly given 
to Homer, not to correcting and amending him, for that is 
all over, but in writing notes. Johnson has expressed a 
wish for some, that the unlearned may be a little illumin- 
ated concerning classical story, and the mythology of the 
ancients; and his behaviour to me has been so liberal, that 
I can refuse him nothing. Poking into the old Greek 
commentators, however, blinds me. But it is no matter, I 
am the more like Homer. I avail myself of Clarke's excel- 
lent annotations, from which I select such as I think likely 
to be useful, or that recommend themselves by the amuse- 
ment they afford, of which sorts there are not a few. — 
Barnes also affords me some of both kinds, but not so 
many, his notes being chiefly paraphrastical or grammatical. 
My only fear is, lest between them both, I should make 
my work too voluminous." 

In a letter to Mr. Newton, written 12th June, 1793, 
Cowper thus expresses himself respecting the state of his 
own mind, and that of Mrs. Unwin. " You promise to 
be contented with a short line, and a short one you must 
have, hurried over in the little interval I have happened to 
find, between the conclusion of my morning task and 
breakfast. Study has this good effect, at least: it makes 
me an early riser, a wholesome practice from which I have 
never swerved since March. The scanty opportunity I 
have, I shall employ in telling you what you principally 
wish to be told, the present state of mine and Mrs. Un- 
win's health. In her I cannot perceive any alteration for 
the better ; and must be satisfied, I believe, as indeed I 
have great reason to be, if she does not alter for the worse. 



I 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 295 

She uses the orchard-walk daily, but always supported 
between two, and is still unable to employ herself as for- 
merly. But she is cheerful, seldom in much pain, and 
has always strong confidence in the mercy and faithfulness 
of God. As to myself, I have invariably the same song 
to sing — well in body, but sick in spirit ; sick, nigh unto 
death." 

' Seasons return, but not to me returns 
God, or the sweet approach of heavenly day, 
Or sight of cheering truth, or pardon seal'd, 
Or joy, or hope, or Jesus' face divine, 
But clouds or / 

I could easily set my complaint to Milton's tone, and 
accompany him through the whole passage on the subject 
of a blindness more deplorable than his ; but time fails 
me." 

During this year, several of Cowper's correspondents 
were visited either with domestic affliction, or with painful 
bereavements. On such occasions, all the sensibility and 
sympathy of his peculiarly tender mind never failed to be 
called into lively exercise. The deep depression of his 
own mind, did not deter him from attempting at least, 
to alleviate the distress of others. To Mr. Hayley, who 
had recently lost a friend, he thus writes : — " I truly 
sympathize with you under your weight of sorrow, for 
the loss of our good Samaritan. But be not broken- 
hearted my friend ; remember, the loss of those we love 
is the condition on which we live ourselves ; and that he 
who chooses his friends wisely, from among the excellent 
of the earth, has a sure ground to hope concerning them 
when they die, that a merciful God will make them far 
happier than they could be here, and that we shall join 
them soon again : this is solid comfort, could we but avail 
ourselves of it, but I confess the difficulty of doing so 



296 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEH. 

always. Sorrow is like the deaf adder, that hears not the 
voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely ; and I feel 
so myself for the death of Austen, that my own chief con- 
solation is, that I had never seen him. Live yourself, I 
beseech you, for I have seen so much of you, that I can by 
no means spare you, and I will live as long as it shall 
please God to permit. I know you set some value upon 
me, therefore let that promise comfort you, and give us 
not reason to say, like David's servants, i We know that 
it would have pleased thee more if all we had died, than 
this one, for whom thou art inconsolable.' You have still 
Romney, and Carwardine, and Grey, and me, and my poor 
Mary, and I know not how many beside ; as many I sup- 
pose as ever had an opportunity of spending a day with 
you. He who has the most friends, must necessarily lose 
the most ; and he whose friends are numerous as yours, 
may the better spare a part of them. It is a changing 
transient scene : yet a little while, and this poor dream of 
life will be over with all of us. The living, and they who 
live unhappy, they are indeed the subjects of sorrow.' , 

To his esteemed friend, Rev. Mr. Hurdis, who, as above 
related, had lost one beloved sister, and was in great 
danger of losing another, he thus writes, June, 1793. 
" I seize a passing moment, merely to say that I feel for 
your distresses, and sincerely pity you, and I shall be 
happy to learn from your next that your sister's amend- 
ment has superseded the necessity you feared of a journey 
to London. Your candid account that your afflictions 
have broken your spirits and temper, I can perfectly un- 
derstand, having laboured much in that tire myself, and 
perhaps more than any man. It is in such a school that 
we must learn, if we ever truly learn it, the natural depra- 
vity of the human heart, and of our own in particular, to- 
gether with the consequence that necessarily follows such 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 297 

wretched premises; our indispensable need of the atone- 
ment, and our inexpressible obligations to Him who made 
it. This reflection cannot escape a thinking mind, looking 
back on those ebullitions of fretfulness and impatience to 
which it has yielded in a season of great affliction." 

Early in the spring of this year, 1793, Cowper's esteemed 
relative, Rev. John Johnson, after much mature and solemn 
deliberation, had resolved to take holy orders. Cowper 
had always regarded him with the most paternal affection, 
and had wished that he should enter upon the important 
office of a christian minister, with a high sense of the great- 
ness of the work, and with suitable qualifications for a 
proper discharge of its solemn duties. In accordance with 
these wishes, when Mr. Johnson, in a previous year, had 
relinquished his intentions of taking orders at that time, 
Cowper had thus addressed him. " My dearest of all 
Johnnys, I am not sorry that your ordination is postponed. 
A year's learning and wisdom, added to your present stock, 
will not be more than enough to satisfy the demands of 
your function. Neither am I sorry that you find it difficult 
to fix your thoughts to the serious point at all times. It 
proves, at least, that you attempt, and wish to do it, and 
these are good symptoms. Woe to those who enter on the 
ministry of the gospel without having previously asked, 
at least from God, a mind and spirit suited to their occu- 
pation, and whose experience never differs from itself, be- 
cause they are always alike vain, light, and inconsiderate. 
It is therefore matter of great joy to me to hear you com- 
plain of levity, as it indicates the existence of anxiety of 
mind to be freed from it." 

The gratification it afforded Cowper to find that his be- 
loved relative entered into the ministry with scriptural 
views and feelings, is thus expressed. " What you say of 
your determined purpose, with God's help, to take up the 



298 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



cross, and despise the shame, gives us both great pleasure : 
in our pedigree is found one, at least, who did it before you. 
Do you the like, and you will meet him in heaven, as sure 
as the scripture is the word of God. The quarrel that the 
world has with evangelic men and doctrines, they would 
have with a host of angels in human form, for it is the 
quarrel of owls with sunshine ; of ignorance with divine 
illumination. The Bishop of Norwich has won my heart 
by his kind and liberal behaviour to you, and if I knew 
him I would tell him so. I am glad that your auditors 
find your voice strong, and your utterance distinct ; glad, 
too, that your doctrine has hitherto made you no enemies. 
You have a gracious Master, who, it seems, will not suffer 
you to see war in the beginning. It will be a wonder, 
however, if you do not find out, sooner or later, that sore 
place in every heart, which can ill endure the touch of 
apostolic doctrine. Somebody will smart in his conscience, 
and you will hear of it. I say not this to terrify you, but 
to prepare you for what is likely to happen, and which, 
troublesome as it may prove, is yet devoutly to be wished ; 
for, in general, there is little good done by preachers till 
the world begins to abuse them. But understand me 
right. I do not mean that you should give them unneces- 
sary provocation, by scolding and railing at them, as some, 
more zealous than wise, are apt to do. That were to de- 
serve their anger. No ; there is no need of it. The self- 
abasing doctrines of the gospel will, of themselves, create 
you enemies ; but remember this for your comfort — they 
will also, in due time, transform them into friends, and 
make them love you as if they were your own children. 
God give you many such ; as, if you are faithful to his 
cause, I trust he will." 

About this time Mr. Hayley appears to have applied to 
Cowper for his assistance, in a joint literary undertaking of 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER, 299 

some magnitude, with himself and two other distinguished 
literary characters. Anxious, however, as Cowper was 
on all occasions to oblige his friend, he could not give his 
consent to this measure. His reply, given partly in poetry 
and partly in prose, while it shews the peculiar state of his 
mind, exhibits-, at the same time, so much of that amiable 
modesty by which he was always distinguished, that it 
cannot be read without interest. 

" Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, 
Worthier to stand for ever if they could, 
Than any built of stone, or yet of wood, 
For back of royal elephant to bear ! 
Oh, for permission from the skies to share, 
Much to my own, though little to thy good, 
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood !) 
A partnership of literary ware ! 
But I am bankrupt now, and doomed henceforth 
To drudge in descant dry, or other's lays — 
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequall'd worth ! 
But what is commentator's happiest praise? 
That he has furnished lights for other eyes, 
Which they who need them use, and then despise." 

u What remains for me to say on this subject, my dear 
brother, I will say in prose. There are other impediments 
to the plan you propose, which I could not comprise 
within the bounds of a sonnet. My poor Mary's infirm 
condition makes it impossible for me, at present, to engage 
in a work such as you propose. My thoughts are not 
sufficiently free ; nor have I, nor can I, by any means find 
opportunity ; added to it comes a difficulty w T hich, though 
you are not at all aware of it, presents itself to me under a 
most forbidding appearance. Can you guess it ? No, not 
you : neither, perhaps, will you be able to imagine that 
such a difficulty can possibly exist. If your hair begins 
to bristle, stroke it down again ; for there is no need 



300 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COVVPER. 

why it should erect itself. It concerns me, not you. 1 
know myself too well not to know that I am nobody in 
verse, unless in a corner and alone, and unconnected in 
my operations. This is not owing to want of love to you, 
my brother, or the most consummate confidence in you — I 
have both in a degree that has not been exceeded in the 
experience of any friend you have, or ever had. But I am 
so made up — 1 will not enter into a philosophical analysis 
of my strange constitution, in order to detect the true 
cause of the evil ; but, on a general view of the matter, I 
suspect that it proceeds from that shyness which has been 
my effectual and almost total hindrance on many other 
important occasions, and which I should feel, I well know, 
on. this, to a degree that would perfectly cripple me. No ! 
I shall neither do, nor attempt, anything of consequence 
more, unless my poor Mary get better : nor even then, 
unless it should please God to give me another nature. I 
could not thus act in concert with any man, not even with 
my own father or brother, were they now alive ! Small 
game must serve me at present, and till I have done with 
Homer and Milton. The utmost that I aspire to, and 
Heaven knows with how feeble a hope, is to write, at some 
future and better opportunity, when my hands are free, 
The Four Ages. Thus I have opened my heart unto 
thee." On another occasion he thus plaintively writes: — 
" I find that much study fatigues me, which is a proof that 
I am somewhat stricken in years. Certain it is that, ten 
or sixteen years ago, I couid have done as much, and did 
actually do much more, without suffering the least fatigue, 
than I can possibly accomplish now. How insensibly old 
age steals on us, and how often it is actually arrived before 
we suspect it ! Accident alone ; some occurrence that 
suggests a comparison of our former with our present 
selves, affords the discovery. Well, it is always good to be 
undeceived, especially in an article of such importance." 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 301 

To a person less intimately acquainted with Cowper 
than Mr. Hayley was, the above reply would have been 
amply sufficient to have prevented him from making any 
further application of a similar nature. He, however, was 
not to be thus easily diverted from his purpose. Of the 
talents of Cowper he had justly formed the highest opinion, 
and had wisely concluded, that if they could only be again 
brought fairly and fully into exercise, in the composition 
of original poetry, the result would be everything that 
could be wished. Immediately, therefore, on receiving the 
above letter, he proffered Cowper his own assistance, and 
the assistance of two other esteemed friends, in composing 
the projected poem, u The Four Ages," and proposed that 
it should be their joint production. His principal object 
was, unquestionably, to induce Cowper to employ his un- 
rivalled talents. The pleasure he anticipated in having 
such a coadjutor, gratifying as it must have been to his 
feelings, was only a secondary consideration. Averse as 
Cowper was to the former proposal, he immediately con- 
sented to this, and the following extract will shew what 
were his feelings on the occasion : — "I am in haste to 
tell you how much I am delighted with your projected 
quadruple alliance, and to assure you that, if it please God 
to afford me health, spirits, ability, and leisure, I will not 
fail to devote them all to the production of my quota in 
" The Four Ages." You are very kind to humour me as 
you do, and had need be a little touched yourself with all 
my oddities, that you may know how to adminster to 
mine. All whom I love do so, and I believe it to be im- 
possible to love heartily those who do not. People must 
not do me good in their way, but in my own, and then 
they do me good indeed. My pride, my ambition, and my 
friendship for you, and the interest I take in my own dear 
self, will all be consulted and gratified, by an arm-in-arm 
appearance with you in public ; and I shall work with 



302 THE L1FE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

more zeal and assiduity at Homer; and when Homer is 
finished, at Milton, with the prospect of such a coalition 
before me. I am at this moment, with all the imprudence 
natural to poets, expending nobody knows what, in em- 
bellishing my premises, or rather the premises of my 
neighbour Courtenay, which is more poetical still. Your 
project, therefore, is most opportune, as any project must 
needs be, that has so direct a tendency to put money into 
the pocket of one so likely to want it." 

" Ah, brother poet ! send me of your shade, 
And bid the zephyrs hasten to my aid ; 
Or, like a worm unearthed at noon, I go, 
Dispatched by sunshine to the shades below." 

It is deeply to be regretted that the pleasing anticipations 
of both Mr. Hayley and Cowper, respecting this joint pro- 
duction, were never realized. Had this poem been written, 
it would, in all probability, have been equal to any that 
had ever been published. Cowper was, however, at this 
time, rapidly sinking into that deep and settled melancholy 
which it now becomes our painful duty to relate, and ih 
which he continued during the remaining period of his 
life, notwithstanding the united and indefatigable exertions 
of his friends to afford him relief. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 3Q3 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Mr. Hayley's second visit to Weston — Finds Cowper busily engaged — 
Great apprehensions respecting him — Mrs. Unwin's increasing- 
infirmities — Cowper's feelings on account of it — Vigour of his 
own mind at this period — Severe attack of depression — Deplo- 
rable condition to which he was now reduced — Management of 
his affairs kindly undertaken by Lady Hesketh — Mr. Hayley's 
anxieties respecting him — Is invited by Mr. Greathead to pay 
Cowper another visit — Complies with the invitation — Arrival at 
Weston — How he is received by Cowper — Inefficiency of the 
means employed to remove his depression — Handsome pension 
allowed him by his Majesty — His removal from Weston to Norfolk, 
under the care of the Rev. J. Johnson — Death of Mrs. Unwin — 
How it affected Cowper — Recovers sufficiently to resume his ap- 
plication to Homer — Finishes his notes — Letter to Lady Hesketh 
descriptive of his feelings — Composes some original poems — 
Translates some of Gay's fables into Latin — Rapid decay of his 
strength — Last illness — Death. 

In the beginning of November, 1793, Mr. Hayley made 
his second visit to Weston. He found Cowper in the en- 
joyment of apparent health ; and though incessantly em- 
ployed, either on Homer or Milton, pleasing himself with 
the society of his young kinsman, from Norfolk, and his 
esteemed friend Mr. Rose, who had arrived from the seat 
of Lord Spencer, in Northamptonshire, with an invitation 
from his lordship to Cowper and his guests, to pay him a 
visit. All Cowper's friends strongly recommended him to 
avail himself of this mark of respect from an accomplished 
nobleman whom he cordially respected. Their entreaties, 



304 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

however, were entirely in vain ; his constitutional shyness 
again prevailed, and he commissioned his friends, Rose and 
Hayley, to make an apology to his Lordship for declining 
so honourable an invitation. 

The manner in which Cowper employed his time during 
the continuance of his friend Mr. Hayley at Weston, is 
pleasingly described in the following extract from a letter 
to Mrs. Courtenay, 4th Nov. 1793 : — "lam a most busy 
man, busy to a degree that sometimes half distracts me : 
but if complete distraction be occasioned by having the 
thoughts too much and too long attached to any single 
point, I am in no danger of it, with such perpetual whirl 
are mine whisked about from one subject to another. 
When two poets meet, there are fine doings, I can assure 
you. My' Homer' finds work for Hayley, and his ' Life 
of Milton ' work for me ; so that we are neither of us one 
moment idle. Poor Mrs. Unwin in the mean time sits 
quiet in her corner, occasionally laughing at us both, and 
not seldom interrupting us with some question or remark, 
for which she is continually rewarded by me with a 
* Hush ! ' Bless yourself, my dear Catherina, that you are 
not connected with a poet, especially that you have not 
two to deal with ! " 

During Mr. Hayley's visit, he saw, with great concern, 
that the infirmities of Mrs. Unwin were rapidly sinking 
her into a state of the most pitiable imbecility. Unable 
any longer to watch over the tender health of him whom 
she had guarded for so many years, and unwilling to re- 
linquish her authority, her conduct at this period presented 
that painful spectacle, which we are occasionally called to 
witness, of declining nature seeking to retain that power 
which it knows not how to use, nor how to resign. The 
effect of these increasing infirmities on her whom Cowper 
justly regarded as the guardian of his life, added to appre- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 305 

hensions which he now began to feel that his increasing 
expenses, occasioned by Mrs. Unwin's protracted illness, 
would involve him in difficulties, filled him with the great- 
est uneasiness ; and the despressing influence it had upon 
his mind, became painfully evident to all his friends. So 
visibly was such the case, that Mr. Hayley felt fully per- 
suaded that, unless some speedy and important change 
took place in Cowper's circumstances, his tender mind 
would inevitably sink under the multiplicity of its cares. 
To effect this desirable object, as far as was in his power, 
he embraced the earliest opportunity, after leaving Weston, 
of having an interview with Lord Spencer, and of stating 
to him the undisguised condition of the afflicted poet. His 
lordship entered feelingly into the case, and shortly after- 
wards mentioned it to his majesty. It was owing to this 
that his majesty, some time afterwards, granted to Cowper 
such a pension as was sufficient to secure to him a comforta- 
ble competence for the remainder of his life. It is how- 
ever deeply to be regretted that this seasonable and well- 
merited bounty was not received till the poet's mind was 
enveloped in that midnight gloom from which it never 
afterwards wholly emerged. 

The increasing infirmities of Mrs. Unwin did not, in the 
slightest degree, diminish Cowper's regard for her ; on the 
contrary, they seemed rather to augment it, as the following 
beautiful poem, written about this time, will show : — 

TO MARY. 

" The twentieth year is well nigh past 
Since first our sky was overcast, 
And would that this might be the last, 

My Mary ! 

Thy spirits have a fainter glow ; 

I see thee daily weaker grow ; 

'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 

My Mary ! 



306 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEK, 

Thy needles once a shining store, 
For my sake restless heretofore ; 
Now rust disused, and shine no more, 

My Mary ! 

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 

My Mary ! 

But well thou play'dst the huswife's part, 
And all thy threads, with magic art, 
Have wound themselves about my heart. 

My Mary ! 

Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language uttered in a dream ; 
Yet me they charm whate'er the theme, 

My Mary ! 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 

My Mary ! 

For could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see ? 
The sun would rise in vain for me, 

My Mary ! 

Partakers of thy sad decline, 
Thy hands their little force resign, 
Yet gently prest, press gently mine, 

My Mary ! 

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, 
That now, at every step thou mov'st, 
Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st, 

My Mary ! 

And still to love, though prest with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still, 

My Mary ! 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 307 

But, ah ! by constant heed I know 
How oft the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 

My Mary ! 

And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past, 
Thy worn-out heart will break at last, 

My Mary ! 

Cowper retained his admirable powers in their full vigour, 
during the whole of 1793, and till the middle of January, 
of the following year. His letters, written subsequently to 
Mr. Hayley's visit, though but few, afford unquestionable 
proofs, that his talents had not suffered the slightest dimi- 
nution. The following extract, in reply to some remarks 
on a disputed passage in his Homer, will show that his fa- 
culties were then unimpaired. To Mr. Hayley, 5th January, 
1794, he writes. " If my old friend would look into my 
preface, he would find a principle laid down there which 
perhaps it would not be easy to invalidate, and which, pro- 
perly attended to, would equally secure a translation from 
stiffness, and from wildness. The principle I mean is this — 
' Close, but not so close as to be servile ! free, but not so 
free as to be licentious ! A superstitious fidelity loses the 
spirit, and a loose deviation the sense of the translated 
author— a happy moderation in either case is the only pos- 
sible way of preserving both." 

" Imlac, in Rasselas, says — I forget to whom, ' You have 
convinced me that it is impossible to be a poet.' In like 
manner, I might say to his Lordship, you have convinced 
me that it is impossible to be a translator, to be one, on his 
terms at least, is, I am sure, impossible. On his terms, I 
would defy Homer himself, were he alive, to translate the 
Paradise Lost into Greek. Yet Milton had Homer much 
in his eye when he composed that poem. Whereas, Homer 

x 2 



308 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



never thought of me, or my translation. There are minutiae 
in every language, which, translated into another, would 
spoil the version. Such extreme fidelity is, in fact, un- 
faithful. Such close resemblance takes away all likeness. 
The original is elegant, easy, natural ; the copy is clumsy, 
constrained, unnatural. To what is this owing? To the 
adoption of terms not congenial to your purpose, and of a 
context, such as no man writing an original would make 
use of. Homer is every thing that a poet should be. A 
translation of him, so made, will be every thing a transla- 
tion of Homer should not be. Because it will be written 
in no language under heaven. It will be English, and it 
will be Greek, and therefore it will be neither. He is the 
man, whoever he may be, (I do not pretend to be that man 
myself) — he is the man best qualified as a translator of 
Homer, who has drenched, and steeped, and soaked him- 
self in the effusions of his genius, till he has imbibed their 
colour to the bone, and who, when he is thus dyed, 
through and through, distinguishing what is essentially 
Greek, from what may be habited in English, rejects the 
former, and is faithful to the latter, as far as the purposes 
of fine poetry will permit, and no farther ; this, I think, 
may be easily proved. Homer is everywhere remarkable 
for ease, dignity, energy of expression, grandeur of concep- 
tion, and a majestic flow of numbers. If we copy him so 
closely as to make every one of these excellent properties of 
his absolutely unattainable, which will certainly be the 
effect of too close a copy, instead of translating, we murder 
him. Therefore, after all his Lordship has said, I still hold 
freedom to be an indispensable. Freedom, I mean, with 
respect to the expression ; freedom so limited as never to 
leave behind the matter, but at the same time indulged 
with a sufficient scope, to secure the spirit, and as much as 
possible of the manner ; I say as much as possible, because 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 309 

an English manner must differ from a Greek one, in order 
to be graceful, and for this there is no remedy. Can an 
ungraceful awkward translator of Homer be a good one ? 
No ; but a graceful, easy, natural, faithful version of him, 
will not that be a good one ? Yes : allow me but this, and 
I insist upon it, that such a one may be produced on my 
principles, and can be produced on no other. Reading his 
Lordship's sentiments over again, I am inclined to think 
that in all I have said, I have only given him back the 
same in other terms. He disallows both the absolute free, 
and the absolute close ; so do I, and if I understand myself, 
have said so in my preface. He wishes to recommend a 
medium, though he will not call it so ; so do I ; only we 
express it differently. What is it then that we dispute 
about? I confess my head is not good enough to-day to 
discover." 

This was almost the last letter Cowper wrote to Mr. 
Hayley, and with a very few exceptions, the last that he 
ever wrote at all. Shortly after he had forwarded this, he 
experienced a more severe attack of depression than he had 
ever before felt, which paralyzed all his powers, and con- 
tinued almost wholly unmitigated, through the remaining 
period of his life. The situation to which he was now re- 
duced, was deeply affecting ; imagination can scarcely pic- 
ture to itself a scene of wretchedness more truly deplorable. 
Mrs. Unwin's infirmities had reduced her to a state of 
second childhood ; a deep-seated melancholy, which no- 
thing could remove, preyed upon Cowper's mind, and 
caused him to shun the sight of all except the individual 
who was utterly incapable of rendering him any assistance ; 
his domestic expenses were daily increasing, and as his 
capabilities of preventing it were now entirely suspended, 
there was every probability of his being involved in con- 
siderable embarrassment. The providence of God, how- 



310 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

ever, which had watched over, and preserved him during 
the whole of his life, and had appeared on his hehalf in 
several instances of peculiar distress, in a manner truly 
striking and affecting, did not abandon him in his present 
painful emergency. Lady Hesketh, his amiable cousin, 
and favourite correspondent, now generously undertook 
the arduous task of watching over the melancholy poet 
and his feeble associate. The painful duties of this import- 
ant office, which every one who is at all acquainted with 
the great anxiety of mind required in all cases of mental 
aberration, will admit to be in no ordinary degree arduous, 
she discharged with the utmost christian tenderness and 
affection. Nor did she discover any disposition to relin- 
quish her charge, though it made considerable inroads 
upon her health, owing to the confinement and exertion it 
required, until an opportunity offered of placing these 
interesting invalids under the care of those who she knew 
would feel the greatest pleasure in laying themselves out 
for their comfort. 

Hearing nothing from Cowper for several days beyond 
the time when he was accustomed to write, Mr. Hayley 
began to fear that his apprehensions respeeting his friend's 
health were realized. He did not, however, receive the 
painful intelligence of his relapse until some time afterwards, 
when he was informed of it by a letter from Lady Hes- 
keth, detailing the particulars of his distressing case. 
About this time the Rev. Mr. Greatheed, with whom Cow- 
per had long been on terms of intimacy, and whom he 
very highly esteemed, paid him a visit. Such, however, 
was the distressing state to which Cowper was now re- 
duced, that he refused to see any one, but his own domes- 
tics, on whatever friendly terms he might have been with 
them formerly. The hopes that hrs friends had cherished, 
of his recovery, in some degree, at least, as the summer 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 3] 1 

advanced, were now entirely cut off; and they were all 
fully persuaded that unless some improvement took place 
in the state of his mind, the worst consequences were to 
be apprehended. The best advice had been taken without 
the slightest benefit, and the case began to appear alto- 
gether hopeless. It occurred to Lady Hesketh that pro- 
bably the presence of Mr. Hayley would cheer the poet's 
mind, and rouse him from his present state of almost absolute 
4k/spair. She suggested (his to Mr. Greatheed, but said she 
could not venture to mention the subject in her letters to 
Mr. Hayley, as it appeared unreasonable to request a 
person to come so great a distance with so little real chance 
of success. Mr. Greatheed immediately wrote the follow- 
ing letter to Mr. Hayley, on the subject, which describes 
the melancholy condition to which Cowper was then re- 
duced, and the great anxiety of mind manifested by his 
friends on his behalf: — u Dear Sir, Lady Hesketh's cor- 
respondence has acquainted you with the melancholy re- 
lapse of our dear friend at Weston ; but I am uncertain 
whether you know that within the last fortnight, he has re- 
fused food of every kind, except now and then a very small 
piece of toasted bread, dipped generally in water, some- 
times mixed with a little wine. This her Ladyship in- 
forms me, was the case till last Saturday, since then he 
has eaten a little at each family meal. He persists in re- 
fusing to take such medicines as are indispensable to his 
state of body. In such circumstances his long continuance 
in life cannot be expected. How devoutly to be wished is 
the alleviation of his sufferings and distress ! You, dear 
Sir, who know so well the worth of our beloved and ad- 
mired friend, sympathise with us in this affliction, and de- 
precate his loss doubtless in no ordinary degree. You 
have already most effectually expressed and proved the 
warmth of your friendship. I cannot think that any thing 



312 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWFER. 

but your society would have been sufficient, during the 
infirmity under which his mind has long been oppressed, 
to have supported him against the shock of Mrs. Unwin's 
paralytic attack. I am certain that nothing else could 
have prevailed upon him to undertake the journey to 
Eartham. You have succeeded where his other friends 
knew they could not, and where they apprehended no one 
could. How natural, therefore, is it for them to look to 
you, as most likely to be instrumental, under the blessing 
of God, to bring him relief in the present distressing and 
alarming crisis. It is, indeed, not a little unreasonable to 
ask any person to take such a journey, to witness so melan- 
choly a scene, with an uncertainty of the desired success, 
increased as the present difficulty is, by dear Mr. Cowper's 
aversion to all company. On these accounts Lady Hes- 
keth does not ask it of you, rejoiced as she would be at your 
arrival. Am not I, dear Sir, a very presumptuous person, 
who, in the face of all opposition, dare do this? I am 
emboldened by these two powerful supporters — conscience, 
and experience. Were I at Eartham, I would certainly 
undertake the journey I have presumed to recommend, for 
the bare possibility of restoring Mr. Cowper to himself, to 
his friends, and to the public." 

Mr. Hayley was too affectionately attached to Cowper, 
to hesitate for a moment, what steps he should take on 
the receipt of this letter. The remotest probability of his 
being useful to his afflicted friend, was amply sufficient to 
have induced him to undertake a much longer journey 
than this, to whatever dangers and inconveniences it might 
have exposed him. He accordingly made immediate 
arrangements for a visit to Weston, where he arrived a 
few days afterwards, with his talented son, a youth of great 
promise, to whom* Cowper was most affectionately attached. 
Little or no benefit, however, resulted from this visit. The 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 313 

suffering invalid was loo deeply overwhelmed by his de- 
pressive malady to shew even the slightest symptoms of 
satisfaction at the appearance of one whom he had ever 
been accustomed to welcome with such affectionate de- 
light. His acute anguish had nearly extinguished all 
the finest faculties of his mind, and annihilated, at least 
for a time, all the best affections of his heart. He seemed 
to shrink from every human creature, and if he allowed 
any one, except his own domestics, to approach him, it 
was with so much obvious reluctance and aversion, that 
no benefit could be expected to arise from the interview. 
The only exception was in the case of Mr. Hayley's son, in 
whose company he would occasionally, for a short time, 
seem pleased ; which Mr. Hayley " attributed partly to 
the peculiar charm which is generally found in the man- 
ners of tender ingenuous children ; and partly to that 
uncommon sweetness of character which had inspired Cow- 
per w T ith a degree of parental partiality towards this highly 
promising youth." The united efforts, however, of both 
father and son, could not produce the slightest alleviation 
of Cowper's sufferings. 

Shortly after Mr. Hayley's arrival at Weston, Lady Hes- 
keth embraced the opportunity of leaving her interesting 
invalids for a few days in his charge, that she might, by 
a personal interview, consult the eminent Dr. Willis, who 
had prescribed so successfully in the case of his Majesty 
George III., on the subject of Cowper's malady. Lord 
Thurlow had written to the Doctor in Cowper's behalf, and 
at his and Lady Hesketh's request, he was induced to visit 
the interesting sufferer at Weston. Here again, however, 
the expectations of his friends were greatly disappointed ; 
as the Doctor's skill on this occasion proved wholly unsuc- 
cessful. 

Mr. Hayley remained at Weston for some weeks, ex- 



314 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

erting all the means that ingenuity could invent, or that 
affection could dictate, to afford some relief to his suffering 
friend ; he had, however, the mortification to perceive that 
his well-directed efforts were entirely useless. The circum- 
stances in which Cowper was now placed, were exceedingly 
unfavourable to mental relief. Associated with one whose 
daily increasing infirmities were rapidly reducing her to a 
state of the most affecting imbecility ; the constant sight 
of which was of itself, almost sufficient to have produced 
melancholy in a tender mind like Cowper's, it was hardly 
probable that, under such circumstances, he should recover 
from his most depressive malady. And yet to have sepa- 
rated him from the being with whom he had been so long 
associated, would have been an act of cruelty, which he 
would not, in all probability, have survived. All that 
could be done was to mitigate, as much as possible, the 
sufferings of each individual, and to persevere in the use 
of such means, as would be most likely, under such cir- 
cumstances, to promote the poet's recovery, leaving the 
event at His disposal who, in a manner altogether unex- 
pected, had formerly appeared for him on several distres- 
sing occasions. 

One morning in April, 1794, while Mr. Hayley was at 
Weston, musing, as he and Lady Hesketh were sometimes 
accustomed to do, over the melancholy scene of Cowper's 
sufferings, with aching; and almost broken hearts, at the 
utter inefficacy of every measure that had been taken to 
afford him relief, they were suddenly almost overjoyed at 
the receipt of a letter from Lord Spencer, announcing it to 
be his Majesty's gracious intention to allow Cowper the 
grant of such a pension for life as would secure to him an 
honourable competence. The only subject of regret, at 
this pleasing circumstance, was that he whom it was 
chiefly intended to benefit, and who, if he had been free 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 315 

from his depressive malady, would have been gratified in 
the highest degree at this instance of royal generosity, was 
in a condition that rendered it impossible for him to receive, 
even the faintest glimmering of joy on the occasion. It 
was, however, fondly hoped by his friends, that he would 
ultimately recover, and that the day would at length arrive, 
when he would be able gratefully to acknowledge this 
princely beneficence. Well was it, indeed, for his friends, 
that they supported their minds by indulging these hopes 
of amendment. Had they known that he was doomed to 
pass six years in the same depressed and melancholy con- 
dition, with scarcely a single alleviation, and was, at the 
expiration of that lengthened period, to leave the world 
under the influence of this midnight gloom, they would 
themselves have almost become the subjects of despair. 
Such, however, was the case ; and it is doubtful, though 
Cowper subsequently recovered in some slight degree from 
his depression, whether he was ever in a condition fully to 
appreciate the value of his Majesty's grant. 

Mr. Hayley's departure from Weston, which was now 
become to him as much a scene of suffering, as it had 
formerly been of enjoyment, he thus afTectingly records: — 
" After devoting a few weeks at Weston, I was under the 
painful necessity of forcing myself away from my unhappy 
friend, who, though he appeared to take no pleasure in my 
society, expressed extreme reluctance to let me depart. I 
hardly ever endured an hour more dreadfully distressing 
than the hour in which I left him. Yet the anguish of it 
would have been greatly increased, had 1 been conscious 
that he was destined to years of this dark depression, and 
that I should see him no more. I still indulged the hope, 
from the native vigour of his frame, that as he had formerly 
struggled through longer fits of the depressive malady, 
his darkened minS)would yet emerge from this calamitous 



316 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

eclipse, and shine forth again with new lustre. These 
hopes were considerably increased at a subsequent period : 
but, alas ! they were delusive ! for though he recovered 
sufficient command of his faculties to write a few occasional 
poems, and to retouch his ' Homer,' yet the prospect of his 
perfect revovery was never realized ; and I had beheld the 
poet of unrivalled genius, the sympathetic friend, and the 
delightful companion, for the last time ! " 

Cowper remained in the same most distressing state, 
from the time of Mr. Hayley's departure, which was in the 
spring of 1794, till the summer of 1795. During the 
whole of this time he was most affectionately watched over 
by his amiable cousin : she procured for him the best 
medical advice, and employed every means that promised 
the slightest chance of proving beneficial. All these, 
however, were ineffectual to lighten that ponderous burden 
which incessantly pressed upon and weighed down his 
spirits. He had now been eighteen months in this de- 
plorable state, and, instead of becoming better, if any 
alteration had taken place at all, it was evidently for the 
worse. Lady Hesketh's health was beginning to fail, owing 
to the intense anxiety of mind she had experienced for so 
long a period ; and it became at length desirable to try 
what effect a change of air and of scene would have upon 
him. Almost all his friends recommended this measure, 
which was no sooner determined upon, than his highly 
esteemed relative of Norfolk, the Reverend J.Johnson, who 
had been several weeks at Weston, assisting Lady Hesketh, 
voluntarily and generously undertook the charge of both 
these suffering but interesting individuals. Their removal 
from Weston to North Tuddenham, in Norfolk, took place 
under the immediate guidance of Mr. Johnson, on the 28th 
July, 1795. They performed their journey in safety and ease 
in three days. Here they were accommodated with a corarao- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 317 

dious parsonage-house, by the kindness of the Rev. Leonard 
Shelford, with whom Mr. Johnson had previously made 
arrangements for their reception, fearing lest the activity 
and bustle that occasionally prevailed in the vicinity of his 
own house, situated in the market-place at East Dereham, 
should harass and perplex the tender mind of Cowper. 

They continued in their new residence only a very short 
time. In the following August Mr. Johnson conducted 
them to Mundesley, a village on the Norfolk coast, hoping 
that a situation by the sea-side might prove amusing to 
Cowper, and become ultimately the means of reviving his 
spirits. Here they remained till the following October, 
without appearing to derive any benefit whatever. While 
in this situation Cowper, who had long discontinued all 
correspondence with his friends, ventured to w 7 rite the 
following letter to the Reverend Mr. Buchanan, which, 
while it shews the melancholy depression under which he 
still laboured, proves that he was not without some occa- 
sional intermissions of pleasure : — "I will forget for a 
moment that, to whomsoever I may address myself, a letter 
from me can no otherwise be welcome than as a curiosity. 
To you, Sir, I address this, urged to it by extreme penury 
of employment, and the desire I feel to learn something of 
what is doing, and has been done, at Weston (my beloved 
Weston) since I left it. 

" The coldness of these blasts, even in the hottest days, 
has been such, that, added to the irritation of the salt 
spray, with which they are always charged, they have 
occasioned me an inflammation in the eyelids, which 
threatened, a few days since, to confine me entirely ; but 
by absenting myself as much as possible from the beach, 
and guarding my face with an umbrella, that inconvenience 
is in some degree abated. My chamber commands a very 
near view of the ocean, and the ships, at high water, ap- 



318 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

proach the coast so closely, that a man, furnished with 
better eyes than mine, might I doubt not discern the 
sailors from the window. No situation, at least when the 
weather is clear, can be more pleasant ; which you will 
easily credit, when I add, that it imparts something a little 
resembling pleasure, even to me. Gratify me with news 
of Weston ! If Mr. Gregor, and your neighbours the Cour- 
tenays, are there, mention me to them in such terms as you 
see good. Tell me, if my poor birds are living? I never 
see the herbs I used to give them, without a recollection 
of them, and sometimes am ready to gather them, for- 
getting that I am not at home." 

In the beginning of October, 1795, Mr. Johnson took 
the two interesting invalids to his own residence at Dere- 
ham, where they remained about a month, when they re- 
moved to Dunham Lodge, which was then unoccupied, and 
was pleasantly situated in a park, a few miles from Swaff- 
ham, and which from that time became their settled resi- 
dence. Here they were constantly attended by two of the 
most interesting females that could possibly have been se- 
lected, Miss Johnson and Miss Perowne. The latter took 
so lively an interest in Cowper's welfare, and exerted so 
much ingenuity, in attempting to produce some alleviation 
of his sufferings, that he ever afterwards honoured her 
with his peculiar regard, and preferred her attendance to 
that of every other individual by whom he was surounded ; 
and she continued her kind attention to him to the close of 
his life. The providence of God (as Mr. Hayley justly 
remarks) was strikingly displayed towards Cowper, in sup- 
plying him with attendants, during the whole of his life, 
peculiarly suited to the exigencies of mental dejection." 

Cowper's melancholy depression still remained unallevi- 
ated. In June, 1796, however, an incident occurred, which 
for a time, though it removed not his dejection, revived the 



TFIE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 319 

spirits of his friends, and cheered them with the hope of 
his ultimate recovery. Mr. Johnson invariably procured 
copies of all such new publications as were likely to interest 
the mind of Cowper ; and as Cowper had discontinued the 
use of his pen, and manifested considerable disinclination 
to read himself, Mr. Johnson kindly undertook to read 
these publications to his relative whenever suitable oppor- 
tunities offered. About this time Mr. Wakefield published 
his edition of Pope's Homer. It occurred to Mr. Johnson, 
who always readily embraced the slightest incident that 
seemed likely to diminish the anguish of his afflicted rela- 
tive, that this work might probably excite the poet's at- 
tention sufficiently to rouse him, in some degree, from his 
dejection. He immediately, therefore, procured a copy, 
and ingeniously placed it in a conspicuous part of a large 
unfrequented room, through which he knew Cowper would 
have to pass, in his way from Mrs. Unwin's apartments, 
and in which, he was aware, it was Cowper's practice, 
daily, to take some turns, observing previously to his af- 
flicted relative, that the work contained souie occasional 
comparison of Pope with Cowper. The plan succeeded far 
beyond Mr. Johnson's expectation : to his agreeable sur- 
prise, he discovered, the next day, that Cowper had not 
only found the passages to which he had adverted, but had 
corrected his translation at the suggestion of some of them. 
Perceiving that the poet's attention was arrested, it was 
vigilantly cherished by the utmost efforts of Mr. Johnson ; 
and from that time Cowper regularly engaged in a revisal 
of his own version, and for some weeks produced almost 
sixty new lines a-day. He continued this occupation so 
steadily, and with so much deliberation, that all his friends 
began to rejoice, at the prospect of his almost immediate 
recovery. Their hopes, however, were of short duration. 
In a few weeks he again relapsed into the same state of 



320 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

hopeles depression. In the ensuing autumn, Mr. Johnson 
again made trial of a change of air, and of scene, and re- 
moved the family to the delightful village of Mundesley. 
No apparent benefit, however, resulted from this change, and 
towards the close of Oct. 1796, it was thought desirable 
to remove the family to Mr. Johnson's house at Dereham, 
and to remain there during the winter, as the Lodge was 
at too great a distance from Mr. Johnson's churches. 

In the following December it became evident that Mrs. 
Unwin's life was rapidly drawing to a close ; she had been 
gradually sinking for a considerable time ; and on the se- 
venteenth day of this month, in the 72d year of her age, 
she peacefully, and without a groan, or a sigh, resigned 
her happy spirit into the hands of God. Her life had been 
eminently distinguished by the most fervent and unaffected 
piety, which she had displayed in circumstances the most 
trying and afflicting, and her end was peace. The day 
before she expired, Cowper, as he had long been accus- 
tomed to do at regular periods, spent a short time with his 
afflicted and long-tried friend ; and though to his inmates 
he appeared so absorbed in his own mental anguish, as to 
take little, if any notice of her condition, it was evident 
afterwards that he clearly perceived how fast she was sink- 
ing ; for, as a faithful servant of himself and his afflicted 
friend, was opening the window of his chamber the follow- 
ing morning, he addressed her in a tone the most plaintive 
and affecting, il Sally, is there life above stairs !" a con- 
vincing proof that the acuteness of his own anguish had 
not prevented him from bestowing great attention to the 
sufferings of his aged friend. He saw her, for the last time, 
about an hour before she expired; and, notwithstanding 
the intensity of his own distress, he was much affected, 
though he clearly perceived that she enjoyed the utmost 
tranquillity. He saw the corpse once after her decease ; 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 321 

and after looking at it attentively for a short time, he sud- 
denly withdrew, under the influence of the strongest emo- 
tions. She was buried in Dereham church, on the 23d 
December, 1796, and a marble tablet was raised to her 
memory, with the following inscription : 

IN MEMORY OF 

MARY, 

WIDOW OF THE REV. MORLEY UNWIN, 

AND 

MOTHER OF THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORN UNWIN, 

BORN AT ELY, 1724. 

BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 1796. 

Trusting in God with all her heart and mind, 

This woman proved-magnanimously kind, 

Endured affliction's desolating hail, 

And watched a poet through misfortune's vale. 

Her spotless dust, angelic guards defend ! 

It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend ! 

That single title in itself is fame, 

For all who read his verse revere her name." 

Had Cowper been in the enjoyment of health, and had 
his mind been entirely free from his gloomy forebodings, 
at the time of Mrs. Unwin's decease, so tender and lively 
were his feelings, that it would undoubtedly have proved 
him one of the severest shocks he had ever experienced. 
Such, however, was the influence of bis melancholy depres- 
sion, that he never afterwards adverted to the event, even 
in the most distant way, nor did he even make the slightest 
enquiries respecting her funeral. A more striking proof of 
the intense anguish of his own sufferings cannot possibly 
be given. Dreadful, indeed, must have been those feel- 
ings that could have produced an insensibility so great in 
his tender mind, for the loss of such a friend ! 



• 322 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

In the summer of 1797, Cowper's health appeared in 
some measure to improve, and in the following September, 
at the earnest entreaty of his kinsmen, he again resumed 
the revisal of his Homer; and, notwithstanding the severity 
of his mental anguish, he persevered in it, with some occa- 
sional interruption, till the eighth of May, 1799, on which 
day he completed the work. It was evidently owing to 
the rare talents exerted by Mr. Johnson on the mind of 
Cowper, that he was induced to bring this great work to a 
successful close. And it would have been exceedingly 
difficult, if not utterly impossible, to have found an indi- 
vidual who could, with so much tenderness, have exerted 
an influence so beneficial over the distressed mind of the 
poet. He was, however, indefatigable in his efforts to 
divert his mind from the melancholy depression which 
spread its pernicious influence over his soul. And, dur- 
ing the whole of the summer of 1798, he endeavoured, 
by frequent change of scene, sometimes residing for a week 
or two at Mundesley, and then returning to Dereham, to 
restore the mind of his revered relative to its proper tone. 
And though he had not the satisfaction to see his efforts 
crowned with complete success, yet he was pleased to per- 
ceive them prove in some degree, at least, beneficial to the 
interesting sufforer In his sketch of Cowper's life, published 
in the last edition of the poet's works, he " records it as a 
subjectof much gratitude, that a merciful Providence should 
again have appointed his afflicted relative the employment 
alluded to, as, more than any thing else, it diverted his mind 
from a contemplation of its miseries, and seemed to extend 
his breathing, which was at other times short, to a depth 
of respiration more compatible with ease." 

The happy means pursued by Mr. Johnson to induce 
Cowper to complete the revisal of his Homer, and its suc- 
cessful . result, ought not to go unrecorded. He thus re- 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 323 

lates it in the excellent sketch above referred to : — " His 
kinsman resolved, if it were possible, to reinstate him in the 
revisal of his Homer. One morning, therefore, after break- 
fast, in the month of September, 1797, he placed the com- 
mentaries on the table one by one, namely, Villoison, 
Barnes, and Clarke, opening them all, together with the 
poet's translation, at the place where he had left off a 
twelvemonth before ; but, talking with him as he paced 
the room, upon a very different subject, namely, the im- 
possibility of the things befalling him, which his imagina- 
tion had represented ; when, as his companion had wished, 
Cowper said to him, ' And are you sure that I shall be here 
till the book you are reading is finished.' Quite sure, re- 
plied his kinsman, and that you will also be here to com- 
plete the revisal of your Homer, pointing to the books, if 
you will resume it to-day. As he repeated these words, he 
left the room, rejoicing in the well-known token of their 
having sunk deep into the poet's mind, namely, his seating 
himself on the sofa, taking up one of the books, and saying, 
in a low and plaintive voice, 1 1 may as well do this, for I 
can do nothing else.' " 

In July 1798, the Dowager Lady Spencer paid the af- 
flicted poet a visit. Had he been in the enjoyment of 
health, he would undoubtedly have received her with the 
greatest respect and affection, and the conversation between 
them would have been equally pleasing to both parties ; 
such, however, was his melancholy depression, that he 
seemed not to derive any pleasure from the visit, and on no 
occasion could he be prevailed upon to converse with his 
distinguished visitor with any apparent pleasure. 

While residing at Mundesley, in October 1798, Cowper 
felt himself so far relieved from his depressive malady as 
to undertake, without solicitation, to write to Lady Hes- 
keth. The following extract from this letter, will show the 

y2 



324 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

severity of his mental anguish, even at that period: — 
" You describe delightful scenes, but you describe them to 
one, who, if he even saw them, could receive no delight 
from them, who has a faint recollection, and so faint as to 
be like an almost forgotten dream, that once he was sus- 
ceptible of pleasure from such causes. The country that 
you have had in prospect, has been always famed for its 
beauties ; but the wretch who can derive no gratification 
from a view of nature, even under the disadvantage of her 
most ordinary dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any. 
In one day, — in one minute, I should rather have said, — 
she became an universal blank to me, and though from a 
different cause, yet with an effect as difficult to remove as 
blindness itself." 

Mr. Johnson again removed from Mundesley to Dereham, 
towards the end of October, and pursuing their journey, on 
this occasion, with himself, Miss Perowne, and Cowper, in 
the post chaise, they were overturned. Cowper discovered 
no particular alarm on the occasion, and through the bless- 
ing of Providence, they all escaped unhurt. 

As soon as Cowper had finished the revisal of his Homer, 
Mr. Johnson laid before him the papers containing the 
commencement of his projected poem — The Four Ages. He, 
however, declined undertaking it, as a work far too im- 
portant for him to attempt in his present situation. Several 
other literary projects, of easier accomplishment, were then 
suggested to him by his kinsman, who was aware of the 
great benefit he had derived from employment, and was 
seriously apprehensive that the want of it would add to his 
depression : all of them, however, were objected to by the 
poet, who, at length, replied, that he had just thought of 
six Latin verses, and if he could do any thing it must be 
in pursuing something of that description. He, however, 
gratified his friends, by occasionally employing the powers 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 325 

of his astonishing mind, which still remained in full vigour, 
in the composition of some short original poems. In this 
way he produced the poem entitled Montes Glaciales, 
founded upon an incident, which he had heard read from 
the Norwich paper, several months previous; to which, at 
the time, owing to his depression, he appeared to pay no 
attention. This poem he afterwards, at the request of Miss 
Perowne, translated into Latin. Translation was his prin- 
cipal amusement; sometimes from Latin and Greek into 
English, and occasionally from English into Latin. In this 
way he translated several of Gay's Fables, and communi- 
cated to them, in their new dress, all that ease and vivacity 
which they have in the original. Thus elegantly employed, 
he continued, with some intermissions, almost to the close 
of his life. 

The last original poem he composed was entitled The 
Cast-away, and was founded upon an incident, related in 
Anson's Voyage, of a mariner who was washed overboard 
in the Atlantic, and lost, which he remembered to have 
read in that work many years ago, and which, according to 
the following stanzas, selected from it, he appears to have 
regarded as an illustration of his own case. 

" Obscurest night involved the sky, 
The Atlantic billows roared, 
When, such a destined wretch as I, 
Washed headlong from on board, 
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 
His floating home for ever left. 

He long survives who lives an hour 

In ocean self-upheld, 

And so long he, with unspent power, 

His destiny repelled; 

And ever, as the minutes flew, 

Entreated help, or cry'd 'Adieu !' 



326 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

No poet wept him, but the page 

Of narrative sincere, 

That tells his name, his worth, his age, 

Is wet with Anson's tear : 

And tears, by bards or heroes shed, 

Alike immortalize the dead. 

I therefore purpose not, or dream, 

Descanting on his fate ! 

To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date. 

But misery still delights to trace 

Its semblance in another's case. 

No voice divine the storm allay'd, 

No light propitious shone, 

When snatched from all effectual aid, 

We perished, each alone ; 

But I beneath a rougher sea, 

And whelmed in deeper gulphs than he! 

Anxious as all his friends now were, that he should be 
constantly employed, as this proved the best remedy for 
his depression, they were frequently pained to see him re- 
duced to a state of hopeless inactivity, owing to the seve- 
rity of his mental anguish. At these seasons, what suited 
him best, was, Mr. Johnson's reading to him, which he was 
accustomed to do, almost invariably for a length of time, 
every day. And so industriously had he persevered in this 
method of relieving the poet's mind, that after having ex- 
hausted numerous works of fiction, which had the power of 
attracting his attention, he began to read to his afflicted 
relative the poet's own works. Cowper evinced no disap- 
probation to this till the reader arrived at the history of 
John Gilpin, when he entreated his relative to desist. 

It became evident towards the close of 1799, that his 
bodily strength was rapidly declining, though his mental 






THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 327 

powers, notwithstanding the unmitigated severity of his 
depression, remained unimpaired. In January 1800, Mr. 
Johnson observed in him many symptoms which he thought 
very unfavourable. This induced him to call in additional 
medical advice. His complaint was pronounced to be, 
not as has been generally stated, dropsical, but a break- 
ing up of the constitution. Remedies, however, were 
tried, and he was recommended to take as much gentle 
exercise as he could bear. To this recommendation he dis- 
covered no particular aversion, and Mr. Johnson took him 
for a ride in a post chaise, as often as circumstances would 
permit; it was, however, with considerable difficulty he 
could be prevailed upon to use such medicines as it was 
thought necessary to employ. 

About this time his friend Mr. Hayley wrote to him, ex- 
pressing a wish that he would new-model a passage in his 
translation of the Iliad, where mention is made of the very 
ancient sculpture in which Dsedalus had represented the 
Cretan dance for Ariadne. c< On the 31st January," says 
Mr. Hayley, u I received from him his improved version of 
the lines in question, written in a firm and delicate hand. 
The sight of such writing from my long-silent friend, in- 
spired me with a lively, but too sanguine hope, that I might 
see him once more restored. Alas ! the verses which I 
surveyed as a delightful omen of future letters from a cor- 
respondent so inexpressibly dear to me, proved the last 
effort of his pen." 

Cowper's weakness now very rapidly increased, and by 
the end of February it had become so great as to render 
him incapable of enduring the fatigue of his usual ride, 
which was hence discontinued. In a few days he ceased 
to come down stairs, though he was still able, after break- 
fasting in bed, to adjourn to another room, and to remain 
there till the evening. By the end of the ensuing March, 



328 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

he was compelled to forego even this trifling exercise. He 
was now entirely confined to his bed-room; he was, how- 
ever, still able to sit up to every meal, except breakfast. 

His friend Mr. Rose, about this time, paid him a visit. 
Such, however, was the melancholy change which his com- 
plicated maladies had produced upon his mind, that he 
expressed no pleasure at the arrival of one whom he had 
previously been accustomed to greet with the most cordial 
reception. Mr. Rose remained with him till the first week 
in April, witnessing with much sorrow the sufferings of the 
afflicted poet, and kindly sympathising with his distressed 
relations and friends. Little as Cowper had appeared to 
enjoy his company, he evinced symptoms of considerable 
regret at his departure. 

Both Lady Hesketh, and Mr. Hayley, would have fol- 
lowed the humane example of Mr. Rose, in visiting the 
dying poet, had they not been prevented by circumstances 
over which they had no controul. The health of the for- 
mer, had suffered considerably by her long confinement 
with Cowper, [at the commencement of his last attack, 
and the latter was detained by the impending death of a 
darling child. 

Mr. Johnson informs us, in his sketch of the poet's life, 
that, " on the 19th April the weakness of this truly piti- 
able sufferer had so much increased that his kinsman ap- 
prehended his death to be near. Adverting, therefore, to 
the affliction, as well of body as of mind, which his beloved 
inmate was then enduring, he ventured to speak of his 
approaching dissolution as the signal of his deliverance 
from both these miseries. After a pause of a few moments, 
which was less interrupted by the objections of his despond- 
ing relative than he had dared to hope, he proceeded to 
an observation more consolatory still — namely, that in 
the world to which he was hastening, a merciful Redeemer, 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 329 

who had prepared unspeakable happiness for all his chil- 
dren, and therefore for him — — . To the first part of this 
sentence he had listened with composure, but the conclud- 
ing words were no sooner uttered than his passionately ex- 
pressed entreaties that his companion would desist from 
any further observations of a similar kind, clearly proving 
that though he was on the eve of being invested with 
angelic light, the darkness of delusion still veiled his 
spirit." 

On the following day, which was Sunday, he revived 
a little. Mr. Johnson, on repairing to his room, after he 
had discharged his clerical duties, found him in bed and 
asleep. He did not, however, leave the room, but re- 
mained watching him, expecting he might, on awaking, 
require his assistance. Whilst engaged in this melan- 
choly office, and endeavouring to reconcile his mind to the 
loss of so dear a friend, by considering the gain which that 
friend would experience, his reflections were suddenly in- 
terrupted by the singularly varied tone in which Cowper 
then began to breath. Imagining it to be the sound of 
his immediate summons, after listening to it for several 
minutes, he arose from the foot of the bed on which he 
was sitting, to take a nearer, and, as he supposed, a last 
view of his departing relative, commending his soul to 
that gracious Saviour, whom, in the fulness of mental 
health, he had delighted to honour. As he put aside the 
curtains, Cowper opened his eyes, but closed them again 
without speaking, and breathed as usual. On Monday 
he was much worse ; though, towards the close of day, 
he revived sufficiently to take a little refreshment. The 
two following days he evidently continued to sink rapidly. 
He revived a little on Thursday, but, in the course of the 
night, he appeared exceedingly exhausted ; some refresh- 
ment was presented to him by Miss Perownc, but, owing 



330 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

to a persuasion that nothing could afford him relief, though 
without any apparent impression that the hand of death 
was already upon him, he mildly rejected the cordial with 
these words, the last he was heard to utter : " What can 
it signify V 7 

Early on Friday morning, the 25th, a decided alteration 
for the worse was perceived to have taken place. A deadly 
change appeared in his countenance. In this insensible 
state he remained till a few minutes before five in the af- 
ternoon, when he gently, and without the slightest appa- 
rent pain, ceased to breath, and his happy spirit escaped 
from his body, in which, amidst the thickest gloom of 
darkness, it had so long been imprisoned, and took its 
flight to the regions of perfect purity and bliss. In a man- 
ner so mild and gentle did death make its approach, that 
though his kinsman, his medical attendant, and three 
others were standing at the foot of the bed, with their eyes 
fixed upon his dying countenance, the precise moment of 
his departure was unobserved by any. 

" From this mournful period," writes Mr. Johnson, " till 
the features of his deceased friend were closed from his 
view, the expression which the kinsman of Cowper ob- 
served in them, and which he was affectionately delighted 
to suppose an index of the last thoughts and enjoyments 
of his soul in its gradual escape from the depths of de- 
spondence, was that of calmness and composure, mingled, 
as it were, with holy surprise/' 

He was buried in that part of Dereham Church, called 
St. Edmund's Chapel, on Saturday, the 2nd May, 1800 ; 
and his funeral was attended by several of his relatives. 
In a literary point of view, his long and painful affliction 
had ever been regarded as a national calamity; a deep 
and almost universal sympathy was felt in his behalf; and 
by all men of learning and of piety, his death was looked 
upon as an event of no common importance. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 33] 

As he died without a will, his amiable and beloved re- 
lation, Lady Hesketh, kindly undertook to become his ad- 
ministratrix. She raised a tablet monument to his memory 
with the following inscription : — 

IN MEMORY OF 
WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. 

BORN IN HERTFORDSHIRE, 
1731. 
BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 

1800. 

Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel 

Of talents, dignified by sacred zeal, 

Here, to devotions's bard, devoutly just, 

Pay your fond tribute, due to Cowper's dust ! 

England, exulting in his spotless fame, 

Ranks with her dearest sons his favourite name ; 

Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise 

So clear a title to affection's praise : 

His highest honours to the heart belong — 

His virtues formed the magic of his song. 

The following lines have been kindly handed to the 
author by a friend, in manuscript. He is not sure they 
have never been in print, though he rather inclines to think 
suGh is the case. 

And is the spirit of the Poet fled ?. 

Yes, from its earthly tenement 'tis flown ; 
And death at length has added to the dead 

The sweetest minstrel that the world has known. 

Too nice, too great, his sympathy of soul ; 

For, oh ! his feelings were so much refined, 
That sense became impatient of control, 

And darkness seized the empire of his mind. 



332 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

But when Reflection threw her eagle eye 
Athwart the gloom of unpropitious fate, 

Faith op'd a splendid vista to the sky, 
And gave an earnest of a happier state : 

To see, whilst sceptics to the effects of chance 
Ascribe creation's ever-varying form ; 

To see distinctly, at the first slight glance, 

Who wings the lightning, and who drives the storm 

To brush the cobweb follies from the great, 
Which Art, with all her sophistry has spread ; 
• Uphold the honour of a sinking state, 
And bid Religion raise her drooping head ; 

Such were the objects of the enraptured bard, 
In such his lucid intervals he passed ; 

And knowing Virtue was her own reward, 

Wooed, and revered, and loved her to the last. 

Know, then, that Death has added to his list 
As sweet a bard as ever swept a lyre : 

In Death's despite his memory shall exist 
In numbers pregnant with celestial fire. 

Yes, Cowper ! with thy own expressive lays, 
Lays which have haply many a mind illum'd, 

Thy name shall triumph o'er the lapse of days, 
And only perish when the world's consumed ! 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 333 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Description of his person, his manners, his disposition, his piety — His 
attachment to the Established Church — ■ His attainments — Origi- 
nality of his poetry — His religious sentiments — The warmth of 
his friendship — His attachment to the British constitution — His 
industry and perseverance — Happy manner in which he could 
console the afflicted — His occasional intervals of enjoyment — 
Character as a writer — Powers of description — Beauty of his 
letters — His aversion to flattery, to affectation, to cruelty — His 
love of liberty, and dread of its abuse — Strong attachment to, and 
intimate acquaintance with the scriptures — Pleasure with which 
he sometimes viewed the works of creation — Contentment of his 
mind — Extract from an anonymous critic — Poetic tribute to his 
memory. 

It is scarcely necessary to add any thing on the subject 
of Cowper's character, after the ample delineation that has 
already been given of it in this memoir ; we shall, however, 
subjoin the following brief remarks, which could not so 
conveniently be introduced in any other part of the nar- 
rative. 

Cowper was of the middle stature ; he had a fine, open, 
and expressive countenance • that indicated much thought- 
fulness, and almost excessive sensibility. His eyes were 
more remarkable for the expression of tenderness than of 
penetration. The general expression of his countenance 
partook of that sedate cheerfulness, which so strikingly 
characterizes all his original productions, and which never 



334 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

failed to impart a peculiar charm to his conversation. His 
limbs were more remarkable for strength than for delicacy 
of form. He possessed a warm temperament; and he says 
of himself, in a letter to his cousin Mrs. Bodham, dated 
February 27, 1790, that he was naturally "somewhat irri- 
table/' but, if he was, his religious principle had so sub- 
dued that tendency, that a near relation, who was inti- 
mately acquainted with him the last ten years of his life, 
never saw his temper ruffled in a single instance. 

His manners were generally somewhat shy and reserved, 
particularly to strangers ; when, however, he was in per- 
fect health, and in such society as was quite congenial to 
his taste, they were perfectly free and unembarrassed ; 
his conversation was unrestrained and cheerful, and his 
whole deportment was the most polite and graceful, espe- 
cially to females, towards whom he conducted himself, on 
all occasions, with the strictest delicacy and propriety. 

Much as Cowper was admired by those who knew him only 
as a writer, or as an occasional correspondent, he was infi- 
nitely more esteemed by his more intimate friends ; indeed, 
the more intimately he was known, the more he was be- 
loved and revered. Nor was this affectionate attachment 
so much the result of his brilliant talents, as it was of the 
real goodness of his disposition, and gentleness of his con- 
duct. 

Cowper was emphatically, in the strictest and most 
scriptural sense of the term, a good man. His goodness, 
however, was not the result of mere effort, unconnected 
with christian principles, nor did it arise from the absence 
of those evil dispositions of which all have reason, more 
or less, to complain ; on the contrary, all his writings prove 
that he felt and deplored the existence of evil affections, 
and was only able to suppress them by a cordial reception 
of the gospel of Christ, and the diligent use of those means 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 335 

enforced under that pure and self-denying dispensation. 
Nor was the goodness of Covvper a mere negative goodness, 
inducing him only to avoid doing evil ; it is evident, from 
many passages, both in his poetic and prose productions, 
that he ever looked upon his talents, not as his own, but as 
belonging to Him from whom he had received them. Un- 
der the influence of this impression, all his best and most 
important original productions were unquestionably written. 
Desirous of communicating to his fellow-men the same 
invaluable benefits which he had himself received from the 
simple yet sublime truths of Christianity, and incapable of 
attempting it in any other way than that of becoming an 
author, he took up his pen and produced those unrivalled 
poems, which, while they delight the mere literary reader 
for their elegance, beauty, and sublimity, are no less inte- 
resting to the christian for the accurate and striking de- 
lineations of real religion, with which they abound. As 
long as the English language exists, they will most eagerly 
be sought after, both by the scholar and by the christian. 

Cowper was warmly attached to the religion of the es- 
tablished church, in which he had been trained up, and 
which, like his friend Mr. Newton, he calmly and delibe- 
rately preferred to any other. His attachment, however, was 
not that of the narrow-minded bigot which blinds the 
mind to the excellencies of every other religious commu- 
nity ; on the contrary, it was the attachment of the firm 
and steady friend of religious liberty, in the most liberal 
sense of the term. Of a sectarian spirit he was ever the 
open and avowed opponent. He sincerely and very highly 
respected the conscientious of all parties. In one of his let- 
ters to Mr. Newton, adverting to a passage in his writings 
that was likely to expose him to the charge of illiberality, 
he thus writes. " When I wrote the passage in question, 
I was not at all aware of any impropriety in it. I am, how- 



336 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPEIl. 

ever, glad you have condemned it ; and though I do not 
feel as if I could presently supply its place, shall be willing 
to attempt the task, whatever labour it may cost me j and 
rejoice that it will not be in the power of the critics, what- 
ever else they may charge me with, to accuse me of bigotry, 
or a design to make a certain denomination odious at the 
hazard of the public peace. I had rather my book should 
be burnt, than a single line guilty of such a tendency 
should escape me." 

Cowper's attainments as a scholar were highly respect- 
able ; he was master of four languages, besides his own : 
Greek, Latin, Italian, and French ; and though his reading 
was by no means so extensive as that of some, it was 
turned to better account, as he was a most thoughtful and 
attentive reader, and it was undoubtedly amply sufficient 
for every purpose, with a genius so brilliant and a mind so 
original as his. 

The productions of Cowper were eminently and entirely 
his own ; he had neither borrowed from nor imitated any 
one. He copied from none either as to his subjects, or the 
manner of treating them. All was the creation of his own 
inventive genius. Adverting to this circumstance, in one 
of his letters, he thus writes : — "I reckon it among my 
principal advantages as a composer of verses that I have 
not read an English poet these thirteen years, and but one 
these twenty years. Imitation even of the best models is 
my aversion ; it is a servile and mechanical trick, that has 
enabled many to usurp the name of author, who could not 
have written at all if they had not written upon the pattern 
of some original. But when the ear, and the taste have 
been much accustomed to the style and manner of others, 
it is almost impossible to avoid it, and we imitate, in spite 
of ourselves, just in the same proportion as we admire.' , 
Cowper's mode of expressing his thoughts was entirely 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 337 

original. His blank-verse is not the blank-verse of Milton, 
or of any other poet. His numbers, his pauses, his diction, 
are all of his own growth, without transcription, and with- 
out imitation. If he thinks in a peculiar train, it is always 
as a man of genius, and, what is better still, as a man of 
ardent and unaffected piety. His predecessors had circum- 
scribed themselves, both in the choice and management of 
their subjects, by the observance of a limited number of 
models, who were thought to have exhausted all the legiti- 
mate resources of the art. <l But Cowper," says a great 
modern critic, <c at once ventured to cross this enchanted 
circle, and thus regained the natural liberty of invention, 
and walked abroad in the open field of observation as freely 
as those by whom it was originally trodden. He passed 
from the imitation of poets to the imitation of nature, and 
ventured boldly upon the representation of objects that 
none before him had imagined could be employed in poetic 
imagery. In the ordinary occupations, occurrences, and 
duties of domestic life, he found a multitude of subjects 
for ridicule and reflection, for pathetic and picturesque de- 
scription, for moral declamation and devotional rapture, 
that would have been looked upon with disdain or de- 
spair by all his predecessors. He took as wide a range in 
language too, as in matter; and shaking off the tawdry 
incumbrance of that poetical diction which had nearly 
reduced poetry to a skilful collection of a set of appropri- 
ated phrases, he made no scruple to set down in verse every 
expression that would have been admitted in prose ; and 
to take advantage of all the varieties and changes of which 
our language is susceptible." 

It has been justly remarked, " that between the po- 
etry of Cowper and that of Dryden and Pope, and some 
of their successors, there is an immense difference. It 
would be easy to shew how little he owed to his immediate 



338 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

forerunners, and how much his immediate followers have 
been indebted to him. All the cant phrases, all the techni- 
calities of the former school, he utterly threw away; and 
by his rejection of them, they became obsolete. He boldly 
adopted cadences of verse unattempted before, which 
though frequently uncouth, and sometimes scarcely re- 
ducible to rhyme, were not seldom ingeniously significant 
and signally energetic. He feared not to employ col- 
loquial, philosophical, judicial idioms, and forms of argu- 
ment and illustration, which enlarged the vocabulary of 
poetical terms, less by recurring to obsolete ones, than by 
hazardous, and generally happy innovations of his own 
invention, which have since become dignified by usage ; 
but which Pope and his imitators durst not have touched. 
The eminent adventurous revivers of English poetry, about 
thirty years ago, South ey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, 
in their blank-verse, trode directly in the steps of Cowper ; 
and, in their early productions at least, were each in a 
measure what he had made them. Cowper may be legiti- 
mately styled the father of this triumvirate, who are, in 
truth, the living fathers of an innumerable company of 
modern poets, whom no ingenuity can well classify and 
arrange." 

The poetry of Cowper is in the highest degree deserving 
the honourable appellation of Christian poetry. He con- 
secrated his muse to the service of that pure and self- 
denying religion, taught by Christ and his apostles. In 
this respect his poems differed from the productions of any 
writers that had then appeared, with the exception of 
Milton and Young. Both these individuals, though they 
wrote on religious subjects, yet in all probability wrote prin- 
cipally for fame ; with Cowper, however, the desire of doing 
good predominated over every other feeling ; and the hope 
of emolument, nay, even the love of fame itself, was looked 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER/ 339 

upon as subordinate to this great object, the last to which 
poets generally pay any consideration. To Young, Cow- 
per was evidently superior, in every thing that constitutes 
real poetic excellence; and equal to Milton in the ease 
and elegance of his compositions, and in the vivacity and 
beauty of his imagery, though seldom, and perhaps never, 
rising to that majestic sublimity to which the author of 
Paradise Lost sometimes soared, and in which he stands 
unrivalled among modern, if not among ancient poets. 
Milton's matchless poem is a most sublime description of 
the great faets of the Christian system ; every line of it 
fills the reader with surprise. Hurried on through a pro- 
fusion of imagery splendid and grand, and never inelegant, 
tawdry or ungraceful, the mind becomes astonished, and is 
much more powerfully affected than the heart. We look 
in vain for those touching appeals to the affections with 
which Cowper's poetry abounds, which come home to the 
bosoms and hearts of all. 

" Poet and Saint, to him is justly given, 
The two most sacred names of earth and heaven. '' 

In the productions of Milton and Young, there is not 
much of practical, and still less of experimental, piety. 
They confined themselves chiefly to the theory of religion. 
Cowper, on the contrary, whose views of the great leading- 
truths of Christianity were equally, if not more compre- 
hensive, describes, with unequalled simplicity and beauty, 
those less splendid, but not less useful, parts of religion, 
which his predecessors had left almost untouched : hence 
the superiority of his muse to theirs in these respects. No 
uninspired orator ever so happily and so strikingly de- 
scribed the operations of Divine grace upon the human 
soul. The gospel had come home to him, not in word 

z2 



340 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

only, but in demonstration of the Spirit, and in power. He 
not only possessed a comprehensive knowledge of the 
Christian system, which enabled him, whenever he had oc- 
casion for it, to describe and illustrate, with all the force 
and beauty of poetic enchantment, that solid foundation on 
which the Christian builds his hopes, but he had himself 
felt the astonishing efficacy of these truths on the heart, 
when truly and cordially received. This accounts for the 
unrivalled felicity with which he describes the happy in- 
fluence of Christianity in all cases where it is rightly em- 
braced, unless, as in his own case, its influence be pre- 
vented by some unaccountable bodily distemper. Treating 
the great peculiarities of the Christian system — the de- 
pravity of man — the necessity of regeneration— the efficacy 
of the atonement — access to God, through the Divine Spi- 
rit — justification by faith, with others of a like kind, not 
merely as subjects of enquiry, but as things which had 
been to him matters of actual experience, it is no wonder 
that his muse sometimes carried him to a depth of Chris- 
tian feeling, unsung, and even unattempted before. As he 
himself, in his poem on Charity, beautifully sings — 

" When one that holds communion with the skies 
Has fill'd his urn, where these pure waters rise, 
And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings ; 
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied." 

" Cowper," as Mr. Hayley justly observes, u accom- 
plished, as a poet, the sublimest object of poetic ambition, 
— he has dissipated the general prejudice that held it 
hardly possible for a modern author to succeed in sacred 
poetry. He has proved that verse and devotion are natural 
allies. He has shewn that true poetical genius cannot be 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 341 

more honourably or more delightfully employed than in 
diffusing through the heart and mind of man a filial 
affection for his Maker, with a firm and cheerful trust in 
his word. He has sung in a strain, in some degree at least 
equal to the great subject, the blessed advent of the 
Messiah ; and perhaps it will not be saying too much, to 
assert that his poetry will have no inconsiderable influence 
in preparing the world for the cordial reception of all the 
rich blessings which this event was intended to introduce." 
Up to the period when Cowper's productions were given 
to the word, it was foolishly imagined impossible success- 
fully to employ the graces and beauties of poetry on the 
side of virtue. A great modern critic had inconsiderately 
declared that " contemplative piety cannot be poetical." 
Had he asserted only, that it had very rarely been so, the 
assertion would not have been unjust. It would, indeed, 
have coincided with the views entertained by Cowper him- 
self; for, of his predecessors' productions, with few excep- 
tions, no one could have formed a more correct opinion, as 
will appear by the following lines : 

" Pity religion has so seldom found 
A skilful guide into poetic ground ! 
The flowers would spring where'er she deigned to stray, 
And every muse attend her in her way. 
Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, 
And many a compliment politely penned ; 
But unattired in that becoming vest 
Religion weaves for her, and half undressed, 
Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn, 
A wintry figure, like a withered thorn." 

This censure, severely as it may fall on most of Cowper's 
predecessors, is not unjust. His muse, however, was the 
first to shew that poetry, may be made the handmaid to 



[FE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 



religion. When he gave to the world the productions of 
his unrivalled pen, they saw, indeed, 

« a bard all fire, 



Touched with a coal from heaven, assume the lyre, 
And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, 
With more than mortal music on his tongue, 
That he who died below, and reigns above, 
Inspires the song, and that his name was love." 

Cowper's religious sentiments were undoubtedly Cal- 
vinistic, and though his views of divine truth were ge- 
nerally unexceptionable, they were sometimes rather 
strongly tinged with the peculiarities of that system. On 
no occasion, however, that comes within our recollection, 
do we find him speaking of the character of God in such 
terms as would lead any, who were sincerely desirous of 
approaching Him in the way of His own appointment, to 
doubt of gracious reception at his hands. His own case, 
indeed, must be excepted, as his melancholy depression 
ever led him to regard himself as a solitary instance of the 
rejection of God and of the reversal of his decree. It 
could seldom, if ever, be inferred from any of his repre- 
sentations, that he thought the Divine Being, by the mere 
exercise of his sovereignty, continued any of his creatures, 
except, indeed, it were himself, in a state of suffering in 
the present life, or placed them beyond the means of escap- 
ing from misery, in the future. His views of the atone- 
ment and of the infinite extent of its efficacy, were such 
as led him, whenever he had occasion to advert to it, to 
represent it truly, as a solid ground of hope and comfort, 
to every converted sinner, whatever might have been his 
character. He felt an entire conviction that he whose in- 
finite compassion had prompted him to make provision for 
the restoration of fallen man to his favour, intended it to 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 343 

be universally beneficial ; and that the perverseness and 
obstinacy of men were the only reasons why it was not so. 
That he should have regarded his own case as an excep- 
tion, and should, consequently, have passed the greater 
part of his life in the bitterness of despair, is a difficulty 
which we are persuaded will, in the present life, for ever 
remain unaccounted for. To assert, as some have done, 
on no other foundation than that of mere opinion, that 
had he not been religious he would never have been melan- 
choly, is utterly at variance with all the leading facts of 
his history. To every well regulated mind it will be abun- 
dantly evident, that whatever reasons may be assigned for 
the affecting peculiarity of his case, the deep concern he 
felt for religion could never have been the cause. On the 
contrary, it will appear clearly to have been much more 
likely to become the best preventive, as in fact, the events 
of his life prove it to have been, though, owing to some 
unaccountable organic conformation, much less completely 
than might have been hoped. 

No person was ever more alive to the benefits of real 
friendship, or had ever formed more correct conceptions of 
its obligations and delights. His inimitable stanzas, on 
this most interesting subject, which are perhaps superior 
to any thing that has ever been written upon it, prove in- 
contestibly that he understood what were its indispensable 
prerequisites, and his whole conduct through life shews 
that he felt the full force of that friendship which he so 
admirably described. It is difficult to make extracts from 
a poem, every line of which is almost alike excellent, we 
cannot, however, deny ourselves the pleasure of presenting 
our readers with the following admirable lines : — 

" Who hopes a friend, should have a heart 
Himself, well furnished for the part 
And ready on occasion, 



344 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

To shew the virtue that he seeks ; 
For 'tis an union that bespeaks 
A just reciprocation. 

A man renowned for repartee 
Will seldom scruple to make free 

With friendship's finest feeling ; 
Will thrust a dagger at your breast, 
And tell you 'twas a special jest, 

By way of balm for healing. 

Beware of tatlers ! keep your ear 
Close stopt against the tales they bear, 

Fruits of their own invention ! 
The separation of chief friends 
Is what their business most intends, 

Their sport is your dissension. 

Religion should extinguish strife, 
And make a calm of human life : 

But even those who differ 
Only on topics left at large, 
How fiercely will they meet, and charge ; 

No combatants are stifTer. 

Then judge, before you choose your man, 
As circumspectly as you can ; 

And having made election, 
See that no disrespect of yours, 
Such as a friend but ill endures, 

Enfeeble his affection. 

As similarity of mind, 

Or something not to be defined, 

First rivets our attention; 
So manners decent and polite, 
The same we practised at first sight, 

Must save it from declension. 

The man who hails you Tom, or Jack, 
And proves, by thumping on your back, 
His sense of your great merit ; 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 345 

Is such a friend, that one had need 
Be very much his friend indeed, 
To pardon, or to bear it. 

Some friends make this their prudent plan, 
Say little, and hear all you can ; 

Safe policy, but hateful ! 
So barren sands imbibe the shower, 
But render neither fruit nor flower 

Unpleasant and ungrateful. 

They whisper trivial things, and small ; 
But to communicate at all 

Things serious, deem improper. 
Their feculence and froth they show, 
But keep their best contents below, 

Just like a simmering copper. 

Pursue the theme, and you will find 
A disciplin'd and furnish'd mind 

To be at least expedient ; 
And, after summing all the rest, 
-Religion ruling in the breast, 

A principal ingredient. 

True friendship has, in short a grace, 
More than terrestrial in its face, 

That proves it heav'n-descended : 
Man's love of woman not so pure, 
Nor when sincerest, so secure, 

To last till life is ended. 

Cowper was, through life, the warm, though not the 
blind admirer of the British constitution ; and though he 
made no pretensions to the character of a politician, yet 
he took the liveliest interest in all that related to the honour 
and prosperity of his country. In one of his letters to Mr. 
Newton, he thus writes : — "I learned when I was a boy, 
being the son of a staunch Whig, and a man that loved 
his country, to glow with that patriotic enthusiasm which 



346 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

is apt to break forth into poetry, or at least to prompt a 
person, if he has any inclination that way, to poetical 
endeavours. After I was grown up, and while I lived in 
the Temple, I produced several halfpenny ballads, two or 
three of which had the honour of being popular. But 
unhappily the ardour I felt upon the occasion, disdaining to 
be confined within the bounds of fact, pushed me upon 
uniting the prophetical with the poetical character, and 
defeated its own purpose. I am glad it did. The less 
there is of this sort in my productions the better. The 
stage of national affairs is such a fluctuating scene, that 
an event which seems probable to-day becomes impossible 
to-morrow ; and unless a man were indeed a prophet, he 
cannot but with the greatest hazard of losing his labour, 
bestow his rhymes upon future contingencies, which per- 
haps are never to take place, but in his own wishes and in 
the reveries of his own fancy." 

The time which Cowper bestowed upon his translation 
of Homer, and the indefatigable diligence with which he 
laboured in this great work, notwithstanding his melan- 
choly depression, until he had completed it, prove that he 
was not easily to be diverted from what he had once under- 
taken; and that few men were equal, and perhaps none 
superior, to him, in those essential qualities of a truly great 
mind, — industry and perseverance. 

It might be imagined that Cowper's very retired manner 
of life, had deprived him of that manly independence of 
mind, which is a prime constituent in the character of 
every great man. Several incidents, however, are related 
of him, which go to prove that such was very far from be- 
ing the case. His conduct to Mr. Unwin and Mr. Newton, 
who both in their turns, at different times, thought them- 
selves entitled to complain of some neglect, proves that he 
allowed not the affection of friendship to intrench upon his 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 347 

right to judge at all times for himself. Alluding to Mr. 
Newton's displeasure, he remarks to another friend: — " If 
he says more on the subject, I shall speak freely, and per- 
haps please him less than I have already done." Almost 
in the same breath, however, evincing his deep knowledge 
of human nature, he adds : — " But we shall jumble toge- 
ther again, as people, who have an affection for each other 
at the bottom, never fail to do." On one occasion, some 
friend having remarked to Cowper, that he knew a person 
who wished to see a sample of his verse, before subscribing 
for his edition of Homer, he replied, — " that when he dealt 
in wine, or cloth, or cheese, he would give samples, but of 
verse never." The same independence he evinced on an- 
other occasion, writing to the friend whom he had em- 
ployed to negotiate for the publication of his second 
volume of poetry, he remarks: — " If Johnson should stroke 
his chin, look up to the ceiling, and cry nymph ! anticipate 
him, I beseech you, at once, by saying, that you know I 
should be very sorry he should undertake for me to his own 
disadvantage, or that my volume should be in any degree 
pressed upon him." 

The depressive malady under which Cowper laboured 
through the greater part of his life, might naturally be 
supposed to have disqualified him entirely for the kind 
office of comforting those who were in distress : in truth, 
however, no one had better learned the divine skill of 
strengthening the weak mind, of encouraging the timid and 
trembling believer, of lifting up the weak hands that were 
hanging down, wiping the tear of sorrow from the mournful 
eye, and directing the Christian to look alone to heaven for 
support in all his difficulties. His poems abound with pas- 
sages the most tender and consolatory ; enforcing with an 
eloquence, persuasive and almost irresistible, humble sub- 
mission to the Divine will, in circumstances the most dis- 



348 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER 

couraging. The following lines, forming part of a poetic 
epistle to a lady in France, show how admirably he could 
pour the healing oil of comfort into the wounded spirits of 
others, though he was unable to assuage the grief of his 
own. 

" The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; 
No traveller ever reached that blessed abode 
Who found not thorns and briars on the road. 
The world may dance along the flowery plain, 
Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain. 
* * ' * * * * * * * 
But He, who knew what human hearts would prove, 
How slow to learn the dictates of his love; 
That hard by nature, and of stubborn will, 
A life of ease would make them harder still ; 
In pity to a chosen few, designed 
To escape the common ruin of their kind, 
And said — Go spend them in the vale of tears ! 
Oh balmy gales of soul-reviving air, 
Oh salutary streams that murmur there, 
These flowing from the fount of grace above ! 
Those breathed from lips of everlasting love! 
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys, 
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys, 
An envious world will interpose its frown, 
To mar delights superior to its own, 
And many a pang, experienced still within, 
Reminds them of their hated inmate, sin ! 
But ills of every shape, of every name, 
Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim, 
And every moment's calm that soothes the breast, 
Is given in earnest to eternal rest. 
Ah ! be not sad ! although thy lot be cast 
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ; 
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, 
But the Chief Shepherd even there is near. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 349 

Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine." 

Notwithstanding the almost unmitigated severity of 
Cowper's sufferings, there were seasons in which he en- 
joyed some internal tranquillity, and was enabled to exer- 
cise a trembling, if not an unshaken confidence in the 
Almighty. It was undoubtedly on one of these occasions 
that he penned the following lines — 

" I see, or think I see, 
A glimmering from afar — 
A beam of day that shines for me 
To save me from despair. 
Forerunner of the sun, 
It marks the pilgrim's ,way : 
Fll gaze upon it while I run, 
And watch the rising day.'' 

Had it not been for Cowper's depressive malady, he 
would certainly have been, on all occasions, the most lively 
and agreeable companion. Even as it was, it must not be 
imagined that in his conversation he was never sprightly 
and cheerful. Frequently, when his own heart was suffused 
with grief, arising from the severity and peculiarity of his 
malady, such an air of innocent pleasantry' and humour, 
delicate and perfectly natural, ran through his conversa- 
tion and correspondence, as could not fail to delight all 
who happened to be in his company, or who were occasion- 
ally favoured with the productions of his pen. It would 
be easy to produce proofs of this, both from his poetic and 
prose productions. His rhyming letter, to Mr. Newton, in 
which there is such a happy mixture of the grave and the 
gay, as no other writer could produce, evinces the occa- 



350 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

sional sprightliness of his mind. — " My very dear friend, 
I am going to send, what, when you have read, you may 
scratch your head, and say, I suppose there's nobody 
knows, whether what I have got, be verse or not ; by the 
tune and the time, it ought to be rhyme, but if it be, did 
ever you see, of late or yore, such a ditty before ? 

u I have writ charity, not for popularity, but as well as I 
could, in hopes to do good; and if the reviewer, should say, 
to be sure, the gentleman's muse, wears Methodist shoes, 
you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she 
and her bard, have little regard, for taste and fashions, and 
ruling passions, and hoydening play, of the modern day ; 
and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and 
then wear a tittering air, 'tis only her plan to catch if she 
can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a produc- 
tion on a new construction ; she has baited her trap, in 
hopes to snap, all that may come, with a sugar plum. — 
His opinion in this will not be amiss ; 'tis what I intend, 
my principal end, and if I succeed, and folks should read 
till a few are brought to a serious thought, I shall think I 
am paid, for all I have said, and all I have done, though I 
have run, many a time, after a rhyme, as far as from hence, 
to the end of my sense, and by hook or by crook, write 
another book, if I live and am here another year. 

" I have heard before, of a room with a floor, laid upon 
springs, and such like things, with so much art, in every 
part, that when you went in, you were forced to begin a 
minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now 
in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, 
without pipe or string, or any such thing; and now I have 
writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and as 
you advance, will keep you still, though against your will, 
dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end, of 
what I have penned, which that you may do, ere madam 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 351 

and you, are quite worn out, with jigling about, I take my 
leave, and here you receive, a bow profound, down to the 
ground, from your humble me, W. C." 

The following jeu d'esprit, written by the poet, as de- 
scriptive of one of his rural excursions, through the whole 
of which runs a strain of pleasantry, innocent, and perfectly 
natural, shews that his life was not one unbroken series of 
despair, but that he enjoyed, occasionally, at least, some 
lucid intervals, when, to gratify his friends, he would trifle 
in rhyme with an affectionate and endearing gaiety. As 
it has'never been published in any of his works, the reader 
will not regret its having a place here. 

I sing of a journey to Clifton,* 

We would have performed if we could ; 
Without cart or barrow to lift on 
Poor Mary or me through the mud. 
Sle, sla, slud, 
Stuck in the mud, 
Oh, it is pretty to wade through a flood. 

So away we went slipping and sliding, 

Hop, hop, — a la mode de deux frogs ; 
'Tis near as good walking as riding, 
When ladies are dressed in their clogs. 
Wheels no doubt, 
Go briskly about, 
But they clatter, and rattle, and make such a rout. 

DIALOGUE. 

SHE. 

" Well — now I protest it is charming, 
How finely the weather improves ; 
That cloud, though, is rather alarming, 
How slowly and stately it moves." 

* A village near Olney. 



352 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

HE. 

" Pshaw ! never mind, 
'Tis not in the wind, 
We are travelling south and shall leave it behind." 

SHE. 

" I am glad we are come for an airing, 

For folks may be pounded and penn'd, 
Until they grow rusty, not caring 
To stir half a mile to an end." 

HE. 

" The longer we stay, 
The longer we may; 
It 's a folly to think about weather or way." 

SHE. 

" But now I begin to be frighted, 

If I fall what a way I should roll 1 

I am glad that the bridge was indicted, 

Stay ! stop! I am sunk in a hole." 

HE. 

" Nay, never care, 
'Tis a common affair ; 
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there." 

SHE. 

" Let me breathe now a little and ponder, 
On what it were better to do ; 
That terrible lane I see yonder, 
I think we shall never get thro'." 

HE. 

" So think I,— 
But' by the bye, 
We shall never know, if we never should try." 

SHE. 

" But should we get there, how shall we get home ; 
What a terrible deal of bad road we have pass'd, 
Slipping and sliding ; and if we should come 
To a difficult state, I am ruined at last. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 353 

Oh, this lane ! 
Now it is plain, 
That struggling and striving is labour in vain." 

HE. 

" Stick fast there, while I go and look." 

SHE. 

" Don't go away for fear I should fall ;" 

HE. 

a I have examined it every nook, 

And what you have here is a sample of all : 

Come wheel around, 

The dirt we have found, 
Would buy an estate at a farthing a pound." 

Now sister Ann,* the guitar you must take, 

Set it and sing it, and make it a song; 
I have varied the verse for variety's sake, 
And cut it off short because it was long. 
'Tis hobbling and lame, 
Which critics wont blame, 
For the sense and the sound they say should be the same. 

As a writer, Cowper's powers of description, both in 
poetry and prose, were of the highest order; equalled by 
few, and excelled by none. His richly cultivated mind, 
united to an imagination as brilliant as it was chaste, en- 
abled him to paint the visible beauties of the material, as 
well as the ideal charms of the moral world, with an ease 
and felicity equally delightful. No one could describe the 
feelings of the heart with more vivid force, or knew better 
how to levy contributions on the rich and varied scenes of 
nature. He possessed all the requisite qualifications for a 
poet of the highest class ; — a familiar acquaintance with 
the ancient classics; a comprehensive mind, well stored 
with accurate information on almost every subject; a fertile 

* Lady Austen. 
A k 



354 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COVVPER. 

genius; a rich fancy; an excursive, but chaste imagination 
to all which were added, an extensive knowledge of the 
varied feelings of the human heart, and a most devout re- 
gard to the solemn claims of religion. 

To take a comprehensive review of the poet's original 
productions, in the order in which they appeared, would 
require a much greater space than it would be prudent to 
devote to it here. Table Talk is a dialogue, carried on 
with uncommon spirit and vivacity, in which a variety of 
of most interesting topics are happily introduced and de- 
scanted on with great force and beauty. The Progress 
of Error is much more serious than its predecessor; and 
though it contains passages of unrivalled excellence, it ex- 
hibits occasional marks of weakness, and is less beautiful 
than any other in the volume. 

Truth exhibits a wonderful combination of different 
powers, in which passages, humorous and affecting, are 
scattered with delightful profusion. 

Expostulation, founded on a sermon by Mr. Newton, 
is an impassioned appeal to men, in almost all conditions, 
on behalf of religion ; it abounds with imagery, grand, im- 
pressive, and awful, exhibiting proofs of the poet's deep 
acquaintance with the inspired prophetic records. Hope 
is less impassioned than its predecessor, but not less beau- 
tiful. It is written throughout with great elegance, beauty, 
and force, and the sentiments it breathes are purely evan- 
gelical. Charity is a poem of less vigour, but equally 
instructive, admonitory, and delightful. 

In Conversation, the poet appears in the character 
of a teacher of manners, as well as of morals, and deline- 
ates with exquisite and unerring skill, many of the follies 
and frailties of life. The loquacious — the incommunicative 
— the noisy and tumultuous — the disputatious — the scru- 
pulous and irresolute — the furious and intractable —the lu- 




THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 355 

dicrous— the censorious — the peevish — the bashful — with 
others of similar kind, may here find their character drawn 
by the pen of a master, in the liveliest colours, and with 
striking accuracy. 

Many excellent and judicious remarks are to be found in 
this admirable poem, on the manner in which conversation, 
to make it really edifying, must be carried on ; and the 
certain benefits resulting from it, where it is so conducted, 
are forcibly and clearly pointed out. 

Retirement, will be read with delight by all, but espe- 
cially by those who are looking forward to that season 
when — 

" Hackney'd in business, wearied at that oar, 
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more, 
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low, 
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego." 

The poet happily ridicules the fallacy of supposing it 
impossible to be pious while following the active pursuits 
of life, 

" Truth is not local, God alike pervades 
And fills the world of traffic and the shades, 
And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, 
Or scorn'd where business never intervenes." 

In the same happy strain he exposes the absurdity of 
seeking retirement as an excuse for indolence. 

" An idler is a watch that wants both hands, 
As useless if it goes, as when it stands. 



Absence of occupation is not rest ; 

A mind quite vacant is a mind distrest." 



The Task, however, is by far the poet's greatest produc- 
tion, and had he written nothing else, would have immor- 

a a 2 



356 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

talized his name, and given him a place among the highest 
class of poets. Here his muse kindled into its happiest in- 
spirations, and burst forth into its sublimest strains. Com- 
mencing with objects the most familiar, and in a manner 
inimitably playful, the poet touches on a vast variety of 
subjects, many of them unsung, and unattempted before, 
scattering wherever he goes 

" From grave to gay, from lively to severe," 

an exuberance of beauty and elegance, that enchains the 
reader, carrying him through the muse's adventurous track, 
without the least restraint, and without feeling a moment's 
uneasiness. The transitions are the happiest imaginable ; 
after delineating one object with matchless felicity and 
force, presenting it in shapes almost endlessly diversified, 
ere he is aware of it, another and another starts up before 
the reader, with magical effect, but without the slightest 
confusion, or the least violation of perspicuity. This ad- 
mirable poem may be repeatedly read with increasing de- 
light. It yields an almost inexhaustible source of pleasure 
and instruction. The reader rises from its perusal, not 
only filled with astonishment at the mighty powers of its 
author, but what is of equal, and perhaps of greater im- 
portance, with feelings of the most unfeigned esteem for 
the poet, and with sentiments of benevolence towards all 
mankind. 

The letters of Cowper are unquestionably among the best 
productions of this interesting class of writings that are to 
be found in the English language. Easy and natural, and 
everywhere simple and elegant, without the slightest affec- 
tation of formality, or the most distant approach to that 
studied and artificial style, which invariably destroys the 
beauty of such productions, they never fail to interest and 
delight the reader; and will ever be regarded as perfect 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 357 

models of epistolary correspondence. Their peculiar charm 
is, perhaps, to be attributed chiefly, if not entirely, to that 
affectionate glow of pure friendship, by which they are so 
pre-eminently distinguished. Fascinating as they are to 
every reader of taste, for the chaste, yet unornamented 
style in which they are composed; for their easy and natu- 
ral transitions; and for their concise, yet sufficiently copious 
descriptions, it is to that sprightly and genuine affection 
which runs through the whole of them, causing the reader 
to peruse them with almost as much interest as if they 
were addressed to him personally, that they are principally 
indebted for their claim to superiority. 

To the above remarks on Cowper's letters, we have great 
pleasure in adding the following testimony of the late dis- 
tinguished scholar and writer, the Rev. Robert Hall, of 
Bristol, whose eloquence was unrivalled, and whose pow- 
ers being all consecrated to the cause of religion, ren 
dered him an ornament to the age in which he lived. In 
a letter to Rev. J. Johnson, Cowper's justly esteemed 
relative, he thus writes. " It is quite unnecessary to 
say that I perused the letters with great admiration and 
delight. I have always considered the letters of Mr. 
Cowper as the finest specimens of the epistolary style 
in our language. To an air of inimitable ease and care- 
lessness, they unite a high degree of correctness, such 
as could result only from the clearest intellect, combined 
with the most finished taste. I have scarcely found 
a single word which is capable of being exchanged for a 
better. Literary errors I can discern none. The selection 
of the words, and the structure of the periods, are inimi- 
table ; they present as striking a contrast as can well be 
conceived, to the turgid verbosity which passes at present 
for fine writing, and which bears a great resemblance to 
the degeneracy which marks the style of Ammianus Mar- 



358 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

cellinus, as compared to that of Cicero or of Livy. A per- 
petual effort and struggle is made to supply the place of 
vigour; garish and dazzling colours are substituted for 
chaste ornament ; and the hideous distortions of weakness 
for native strength. In my humble opinion, the study of 
Cowper's prose may, on this account, be as useful in form- 
ing the taste of young people as his poetry." 

Poets have almost invariably been charged with adula- 
tion, whenever they have ventured to eulogise an indivi- 
dual, however much he may have been distinguished by 
his virtues and his talents. In many cases, they have un- 
doubtedly richly merited this censure ; but there are some 
honourable exceptions, and amongst this class Cowper is 
pre-eminently distinguished. Of this wicked and foolish 
practice he had the utmost abhorrence ; and in some in- 
stances it may be doubted whether he did not carry his 
aversion to flattery, almost to an opposite extreme ; with- 
holding praise where he knew it was due. The following 
lines occur almost at the commencement of his Table Talk. 
After painting the portrait of that most virtuous monarch, 
George the Third, in language as just as it is beautiful, he 
abruptly exclaims, 

" Guard what you say ; the patriotic tribe 
Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe — a bribe ! 
The worth of his three kingdoms I defy 
To lure me to the baseness of a lie : 
And of all lies, (be that one poet's boast,) 
The lie that natters, I abhor the most." 

In the character of Cowper there was not the slightest 
particle of ostentation ; on no occasion did he assume any 
airs of consequence ; he never aimed, or wished to be what 
he was not. Every thing in the shape of affectation was the 
object of his disgust. He loved simplicity without rudeness, 
and detested that squeamish mimicry of fine feeling which 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 359 

not unfrequently, either under the assumed garb of superior 
sanctity, or of ardent friendship, conceals the most pitiable 
imbecility and ignorance. 

It must be acknowledged that Cowper sometimes dipped 
his pen in gall. Some expressions the most bitterly sar- 
castic are to be found in his poems. Of his first volume it 
was said, by one of his friends, •' There are many passages 
delicate, many sublime, many beautiful, many tender, 
many sweet, and many acrimonious." Cowper's satire, 
however, though keen and powerful as a whip of scorpions, 
was employed only to expose and punish the openly pro- 
fligate, and the hypocritical professors of religion. Every 
thing in the shape of deception he ever held in perfect de- 
testation. The castigation of vice, of ignorance, or of dissi- 
mulation, was his object, when he became a satirist. If 
he held up philosophy to ridicule, it was that glare of false 
philosophy, which, instead of being beneficial to men, 
only led them from the plain and beaten track of truth, into 
paths of error and misery. He never wantonly, for the 
sake only of his own gratification, inflicted his satiric lash 
on a single individual. He became a satirist, not to give 
vent to a waspish, revengeful, and malicious disposition, 
(to feelings of this kind he was an entire stranger) but for 
the same purpose as the holy prophets of old were satirists 
to expose, in mercy to mankind, the hideous deformity of 
those vices, which have ever been the fruitful parents of 
misery to mankind. 

The exquisite sensibility of Cowper, and the real good- 
ness of his disposition, with his entire abhorrence of cruelty, 
whether practised by man towards his own species, or to- 
wards any part of the Creator's works, are evinced by the 
following striking lines. 

" I would not enter on my list of friends, 
Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, 



360 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

Yet wanting sensibility, the man 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 

An inadvertent step may crush the snail 

That crawls at evening in the public path ; 

But he that has humanity, forewarned, 

Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 

Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 

To love it too. The spring-time of our years 

Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most 

By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 

To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots, 

If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth 

Than cruelty, most devilish of them all ! 

Mercy, to him that shows it, is the rule 

And righteous limitation of its art, 

By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man ; 

And he that shews none, being ripe in years, 

And conscious of the outrage he commits, 

Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 

Distinguished much by, reason, and still more 

By our capacity of grace divine, 

From creatures that exist but for our sake, 

Which, having served us, perish, we are held 

Accountable : and God, some future day, 

Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 

Of what he deems no mean or tiivial trust ! 

Liberty has always been the soul-inspiring theme of 
poets. On no subject has the muse sung in sweeter strains, 
or towered to more sublime heights. Cowper has given 
ample proofs that his muse felt all the lire of this ennobling 
theme. In his Table Talk, some beautiful lines will be 
found on this interesting subject, so dear to the heart of 
every Englishman ; but in his most masterly production, 
the Task, he thus sings — 

" Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 361 

And we are weeds without it. All constraint 

Except what wisdom lays on evil men, 

Is evil : hurts the faculties, impedes 

Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 

The eyesight of discovery ; and begets 

In those that suffer it a sordid mind, — 

Bestial — a meagre intellect, unfit 

To be the tenant of man's noble form. 

Thee, therefore, still, blameworthy as thou art, 

Thee I account still happy, and the chief 

Among the nations, seeing thou art free, 

My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is rude, 

Replete with vapours, and disposes much 

All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine ; 

Yet, being free, I love thee for the sake 

Of that one feature, can be well content, 

Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 

To seek no sublunary rest beside. 

But once enslaved, farewell. I could endure 

Chains nowhere patiently ; and chains at home, 

Where I am free by birthright, not at all ! " 

The liberty of Cowper was not, however, that lawless 
restraint which, under the sacred name of liberty, would 
burst asunder all those bands that hold society together, 
and introduce confusion infinitely more to be dreaded than 
the most absolute despotism. It was not the wild and un- 
restrained liberty of the ferocious mob ; it was the liberty 
that is compatible with wholesome restraint, and with the 
due administration of law. It was the liberty not of disor- 
der but of discipline, as will be seen by the following beau- 
tiful lines — 

" Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts ; 
Let magistrates alert perform their parts, 
Not skulk, or put on a prudential mask, 
As if their duty was a desperate task. 
Let active laws apply the needful curb, 
To guard the peace that riot would disturb ; 



362 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

And liberty, preserved from wild excess, 

Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. 

When Tumult lately burst his prison door, 

And set plebeian thousands in a roar, 

When he usurped Authority's just place, 

And dared to look his master in the face ; 

When the rude rabble's watch-word was — * Destroy ! ' 

And blazing London seemed a second Troy ! 

Liberty blushed, and hung her drooping head - 

Beheld their progress with the deepest dread ; 

Blushed that effects like these she could produce, 

Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves let loose ; 

She loses in such storms her very name, 

And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame ! " 

Powerful as were the charms of subjects like these to 
Cowper, there were others of a different character which 
he held as more dear, and ever regarded as more important. 
Like his great predecessor, Milton, he had made the sacred 
scriptures his constant study; not so much because he ad- 
mired the sublime imagery of the holy penmen, (alive as he 
was to their beauties in this respect) as because he felt the 
full force of divine truth upon his heart ; which, notwith- 
standing the severe pressure of his malady, would some- 
times yield him an interval of pleasure. It was undoubt- 
edly on one of these happy occasions that he penned the 
following lines, so strikingly descriptive of the refined plea- 
sure with which the christian can view the works of nature. 

" He looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature; and though poor, perhaps, compared 
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, 
Calls the delightful scenery all his own : 
His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
And the resplendent rivers : his to enjoy 
With a propriety that none can feel. 
But who, with filial confidence inspired, 
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 
And smiling say — My Father made them all ! 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 363 

Are they not his by a peculiar right ? 
And by an emphasis of interest his 
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy ; 
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love 
That planned, and built, and still upholds a world 
So clothed with beauty for rebellious man ? 
Yes ! Ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 
The loaded soil ; and ye may waste much good 
In senseless riot ; but ye will not find 
In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
A liberty like his, who, unimpeached 
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong 
Appropriates nature as his Father's work, 
And has a richer use of yours than you." 

Although Cowper, towards the close of his life, before 
he received his Majesty's pension, owing to the heavy ex- 
penses occasioned by his own and Mrs. Unwin's illness, was 
scarcely able to keep his expenditure within the limits of 
his income, yet he was never once heard to complain, nor 
even to indulge the slightest disposition to be otherwise 
than contented in the station where providence had placed 
him. Writing to his intimate friend, Mr. Hill, on one oc- 
casion, whom he appears to have made his treasurer, he 
remarks, u Your tidings respecting the slender pittance 
yet to come, are, as you observe, of a melancholy cast. 
Not being gifted, however, by nature with the means of ac- 
quiring much, it is well that she has given me a disposition 
to be contented with little. I have now been so many years 
habituated to small matters, that I should probably find 
myself incommoded by greater, and, may I but be enabled 
to shift, as I have been hitherto, unsatisfied wishes will 
not trouble me much." 

On another occasion, to the same individual he writes, 
" I suppose you are sometimes troubled on my account, 
but you need not. I have no doubt that it will be seen, 



364 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COVVPER. 

when my days are closed, that I served a Master who would 
not suffer me to want any thing that was good for me. He 
said to Jacob, ' I will surely do thee good ;' and this he 
said not for his sake only, but for ours also, if we trust in 
him. This thought relieves me from the greatest part of 
the distress I should else suffer in my present circum- 
stances, and enables me to sit down peacefully upon the 
wreck of my fortune." The same sentiment is still more 
forcibly expressed in the following lines : — 
" Fair is the lot that 's cast for me ; 

I have an Advocate with Thee : 

They whom the world caresses most 

Have no such privilege to boast. 

Poor though I am, despised, forgot, 

Yet God, my God, forgets me not ; 

And he is safe, and must succeed, 

For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead." 

\ Perhaps no individual ever felt more fully the power of 
religion in his heart, or embodied it more completely in his 
life, than Cowper. The apprehensions, for his ultimate 
safety, by which he was so continually harassed, depres- 
sive as was their influence on his mind, never relaxed, in 
any degree, that severe watchfulness which religion had 
taught him to exercise over his thoughts and conduct. On 
the contrary, they seem rather to have operated as a con- 
tinual check upon those corrupt inclinations which are 
common to our fallen nature ; and to which, even Cowper, 
was not a stranger. It would be ridiculous to say he had 
no imperfections ; he felt them ; he often mourned over 
them, and the vivid perception he had of them, associated, 
as it invariably was, with a powerful constitutional ten- 
dency to melancholy, often filled him with the greatest 
anxiety and dread. His conceptions of the purity of that 
sublime religion taught us in the gospel, and of the para- 
mount importance of a holy life in its professors, were 
such as led him to regard the least deviation from the 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 365 

strict line of christian duty, in his own case at least, as an 
entire disqualification for the reception of spiritual comfort, 
IS"o individual's conscience was ever more tremblingly alive 
to the importance of habitual watchfulness and uniform 
consistency of conduct. He could make ample allowances 
for the imperfections of others, but nothing could prevail 
upon him to make any for his own. 

The notice we have already taken of Cowper's produc- 
tions, renders it unnecessary that we should view them 
any further in detail. We cannot, however, suppress the 
following admirable observations of an anonymous critic, 
subjoined to Mr. Hayley's life of Cowper. " The noblest 
benefits and delights of poetry can be but rarely produced, 
because all the requisites for producing them so seldom 
meet. A vivid mind and happy imitative power, may ena- 
ble a poet to form glowing pictures of virtue, and almost 
produce in himself a short-lived enthusiasm of goodness. 
But although even these transient and factitious move- 
ments of mind may serve to produce grand and delight- 
ful effusions of poetry, yet when the best of these are com- 
pared with the poetic productions of a genuine lover of 
virtue, a discerning judgment will scarcely fail to mark the 
difference. A simplicity of conception and expression ; a 
conscious and therefore unaffected dignity ; an instinctive 
adherence to sober reason, even amid the highest flights; 
an uniform justness and consistency of thought; a glow- 
ing, yet temperate ardour of feeling ; a peculiar felicity, 
both in the choice and combination of terms, by which 
even the plainest words acquire the truest character of 
eloquence, and which is rarely to be found except where a 
subject is not only intimately known, but cordially loved ; 
these, I conceive, are the features peculiar to the real vota- 
ry of virtue, and which must of course give to his strains 
a perfection of effect never to be attained by the poet of 
inferior moral endowments. I believe it will be granted 



366 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 

that all these qualities were never more perfectly combined 
than in the poetry of Milton. And I think, too, there will 
be little doubt that the next to him, in every one of these 
instances, beyond all comparison, is Cowper. The genius 
of the latter did certainly not lead him to emulate the 
songs of the Seraphim. But though he pursues a lower 
walk of poetry than his great master, he appears no less the 
enraptured votary of pure unmixed goodness. Nay, per- 
haps he may in this one respect possess some peculiar ex- 
cellences which may make him seem more the bard of 
Christianity. That divine religion infinitely exalts, but it 
also deeply humbles the mind it inspires. It gives ma- 
jesty to the thoughts, but it impresses meekness on the 
manners, and diffuses tenderness through the feelings. It 
combines sensibility and fortitude, the lowliness of the 
child, and the magnanimity of the hero." 

"The grandest features of the Christian character were 
never more gloriously exemplified than in that spirit which 
animates the whole of Milton's poetry. His own Michael 
does not impress us with the idea of a purer, or more awful 
virtue than that which we feel in every portion of his ma- 
jestic verse ; and he no less happily indicates the source 
from which his excellence was derived, by the bright beams 
which he ever and anon reflects upon us from the sacred 
Scriptures. But the milder graces of the gospel are cer- 
tainly less apparent. What we behold is so awful, it might 
almost have inspired a wish, that a spirit, equally pure and 
heavenly, might be raised to illustrate, with like felicity, 
the more attractive and gentler influences of our divine 
religion. In Cowper, above any poet that ever lived, would 
such a wish seem to be fulfilled. In his charming effusions 
we have the same spotless purity, the same elevated devo- 
tion, the same vital exercise of every noble and exalted 
quality of the mind, the same devotedness to the sacred 
Scriptures, and to the peculiar doctrines of the gospel. 



THE LIFE OF WILLIAM COWPER. 367 

The difference is, that instead of an almost reprehensive 
dignity, we have the sweetest familiarity ; instead of the 
majestic grandeur of the Old Testament, we have the win- 
ning graces of the New ; instead of those thunders by which 
angels were discomfited, we have, as it were, the still small 
voice of Him who was meek and lowly of heart. May we 
not then venture to assert, that from that spirit of devoted 
piety, which has rendered both these great men liable to 
the charge of religious enthusiasm, but which, in truth, 
raised the minds of both to a kind of happy residence 

a In regions mild, of calm and serene air, 
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, 
Which men call earth — " 

a poouliqr character has been derived to the poetry of them 
both, which distinguishes their compositions from those of 
almost all the world besides. I have already enumerated 
some of the superior advantages of a truly virtuous poet, and 
presumed to state, that these are realized, in an unexampled 
degree, in Milton and Cowper. That they both owed this 
eminence to their vivid sense of religion, will, I conceive, 
need no demonstration, except what will arise to every 
reader of taste and feeling on examining their works. It 
will here, I think, be seen at once, that that sublimity of 
conception, that delicacy of virtuous feeling, that majestic 
independence of mind, that quick relish for all the beauties 
of nature, at once so pure and so exquisite, which we find 
ever occurring in them both, could not have existed in the 
same unrivalled degree, if their devotion had been less in- 
tense, and, of course, their minds more dissipated amongst 
low and distracting objects. " 

To the above remarks on the poet's character, we cannot 
forbear subjoining the two following exquisite pictures of 
him, one drawn undesignedly by himself, and the other 
by the Rev. Dr. Randolph, of Bath, on seeing his portrait 
by Lawrence. 



368 THE LIFE 0F WILLIAM COWPER. 

" Nature, exerting an unwearied power, 

Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower ; 
But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 
Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence — 
Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought, 
Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought ; 
Fancy, that from the bow that forms the sky, 
Brings colours, dipt in heaven, that never die; 
A soul exalted above earth ; a mind 
Skilled in the characters that form mankind; 
And as the Sun, in rising beauty drest, 
Looks to the westward from the dappled east, 
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose 
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close ; 
An eye like his, to catch the distant goal ; 
Or ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, 
Like his to shed illuminating rays 
On every scene and subject it surveys : 
Thus graced, the man asserts a poet's name, 
And the world cheerfully admits the claim." 

Cowpjsr. 

" Sweet Bard, whose mind, thus pictured in thy face, 
O^r every feature spreads a nobler grace ; 
Whose keen but softened eye appears to dart 
A look of pity through the human heart ; 
To search the secrets of man's inward frame ; 
To weep with sorrow o'er his guilt and shame; 
Sweet Bard, with whom, in sympathy of choice, 
I 've oft-times left the world, at Nature's voice, 
To join the song that all the creatures raise 
To carol forth their great Creator's praise ; 
Or, wrapt in visions of immortal day, 
Have gazed on Truth in Zion's heavenly way. 
Sweet Bard, may this, thine image, all I know, 
Or ever may, of Cowper's form below, 
Teach one who views it with a Christian's love 
To seek and find thee in the realms above." 

Rev. Dr. Randolph. 






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